CMBlack: Bones of a Doe
by Vindicated Soldiers
Summary: Cassy Black did not return to Hogwarts for her seventh year. A seemingly impossible task to find the remaining Horcruxes was left to Harry and his friends, however reluctant he was to include them, and they had no idea where to begin. At war, friends die and new friends emerge. Everyone had something to lose and for Cassy, it's everything she's ever stood for. CMBlack Series yr7.
1. Days in waiting

C. M. Black: Bones of a Doe

 **Chapter I: Days in waiting**

A family of four bickered on the beaten track up the side of the sloping hill. The incline was not so gentle that the mother could find her breath to shout at her children to stop running ahead, but it was not so steep that the little boy and girl, both between the ages of ten and seven, slipped or stumbled as their sandals clattered noisily up it. A beagle wove in and out of the bushes, his nose pressed keenly to the ground.

The grass sprouted amicably from the banks, flowers blooming between it, not at all dried or withered from the summer heat; it had been mild that year. Instead, they grew tall and proud, the colourful buds peeking from every spare inch of stem and attracting bees and butterflies from dawn each day. The colour rose over each distant hill. Every field was full of fresh greens and vibrant yellows, purples, and reds. Sheep were scattered in a field on the next hill over, the side so steep that it was a wonder they did not all roll down to the bottom.

The beagle paused. His head turned.

'Daisy!' called the little boy. 'We should go in there!'

The boy pointed to the field the dog was staring into. The little girl skipped to a stop beside him and frowned. She wrung her hands.

'I don't think that's a good idea, Jack,' she refuted. 'I don't want to go in.'

'It's a corn field, Daisy, don't be such a chicken,' he scolded as he reached out to tug on her hand. Daisy stepped backwards and shook her head. With a short glance back at the field, she darted off in a run back down the hill to where their parents had only made it half-way up. The boy let out a gruff huff and folded his arms tightly across his chest.

Cassy watched the family curiously. She sat on the brick-wall outside of an old house at the end of a long front garden. A crooked metal gate stood some six-feet to her right and to her left rested a warm cup of tea atop a pile of thick, dog-eared books. Their cries and shouts had caught her attention long ago, the noise carrying up the country lane effortlessly, but she did not worry about them seeing her. Muggles were naturally deterred from the area. It was a simple charm to stop hikers stumbling across the house, one that protected so many magical buildings all across Britain, yet the little boy in front of her took no heed of it at all. If not for the barrier that rendered the house invisible to everyone outside of its boundary and the nearly impenetrable wards she had erected herself, she would almost be concerned by the child's lack of wariness.

She tilted her head to one side thoughtfully. That boy was most likely a Muggle-Born wizard; a poor soul only a few years away from starting Hogwarts. She hoped he was not on the register. She hoped he was just a boy with an unnatural sense of adventure, one so enraptured by mystery he was unable to sense the foreboding the apparent field emanated. For it would not be long before the Muggle-Borns were hunted down and their magic stripped from them. Every child, every adult; everyone who was believed to have 'dirty' magic would not find a place in Voldemort's new Britain. Even Hogwarts was safe any longer, not with Snape as the Headmaster.

There had been nothing in the newspaper about any of the staff leaving. There had been nothing in the newspaper about Snape having killed Dumbledore either and Cassy could only imagine the rage that had flooded Harry's veins. She knew Professor McGonagall would not leave. The elderly woman watched over everyone with a fiery gaze, stern and strict and yet caring and kind. She would not leave despite the new Headmaster. She would continue to watch over the students, so at least Ginny and Luna would have someone to rely on when the dreaded month of September finally arrived.

It had only been a few short weeks since the end of term. The month of July crept into sight and brought with it much more uncertainty that Cassy would have liked. If Dumbledore was dead then there was no one to lead the Order of the Phoenix. Moody had stepped up. He had taken the mantle as their new leader and had wilfully inducted Cassy into it officially, their members having both risen and dropped after the news of the murder, somewhat balancing the numbers to almost equal of what they had before. With that came issues too; it was difficult to know who to trust, so Cassy settled on trusting no one but those she knew well. She had been to two haphazard meetings so far, neither with all the members present nor in the same location. It seemed, from what she read from the other members present, that no one was sure of where to go from there.

Idly, Cassy wondered if the surprise had shown on her face when Kingsley turned to her expectantly one meeting, waiting her opinion. She had been equally surprised when he asked how she intended to move her mother's relatives so a safer location.

'It's just a precaution,' he spoke calmly in his deep voice. 'It is not a secret who your relatives are and I cannot guarantee with the standing you are in that people will not look for a way to harm your resolve.'

Cassy mulled over the thought and nodded slowly. Very few people knew she had contact with the Lowe's, yet she advocated Muggle-Born rights and a re-evaluation of integration between them and Pure-Bloods. It would not be a stretch to go as far as to say she looked upon Muggle's favourable – though they still somewhat baffled her – so to be in contact with her own relatives would not be unimaginable. Even if she did not know them, she knew she would not want to hear of their deaths.

That was how Cassy came to sit upon the brick-wall in the countryside, watching the two children argue about whether or not Daisy was a coward for not entering the golden cornfield. Their father hurried them on with a breathless call, before he paused to link arms with his struggling wife and heave her up the last few steps of the incline.

'That never fails to shock me,' came a voice from behind, 'that they can't see us.'

Cassy turned her head just enough to see a glimpse of blonde hair, before she turned her attention back to the family in front. The dog was staring at her again, some distance up the track now. She knew he could not see her, but he could certainly sense her.

Pale arms came to rest on the wall beside her, a light smattering of freckles stretched up and down the limbs and right to her fingertips. Jessica's hair fell now to her shoulders, shorter than when Cassy had seen her last and a smile suited her oval face much more than the crumpled frown she had worn. Her aunt was trying her hardest to be cheerful about the situation, to engage with Cassy when she came to check on them and tried to listen when she explained magic in long, rambling sentences full of foreign words and unthinkable physics.

'This is the farthest I have ever seen you go,' commented Cassy, fingers returning to peeling the tangerine she had been toying with.

'Yeah, well, I don't want to touch anything,' said Jessica, waving her hand towards the track.

'It won't make any difference if you did,' said Cassy, 'you would either pass straight through it or hit an invisible wall. Nothing here will hurt you.'

For a moment, her aunt remained quiet.

A thunderous bang sounded from behind. The front door was thrown wide open and clattering footsteps grew louder and louder. By the time either adult had turned her head fully, a shout was already resonating through the air.

'Cassy!'

'Olivia,' greeted Cassy, far calmer and mildly amused.

The girl, now nine-years-old, clambered up the stone wall and positioned herself on the opposite side of the stack of books. She eyed them carefully, as if expecting them to shift shape and size, to sing or to snarl. Quickly, she pushed her thick, tangled dark hair from her brown-eyes and stared at Cassy with a fierce pout upon her face.

'Why didn't you tell me you were here?' she demanded, her arms crossed firmly over her chest.

'You were asleep,' said Cassy.

'You should have woken me up! '

Cassy laughed lightly and Olivia reached over to help herself to a segment of the tangerine.

'Ollie,' said Jessica suddenly, 'go and get dressed. You shouldn't be outside in your pyjamas and with nothing on your feet.'

For a second, Cassy expected Olivia to protest, but she did not. From the little girl's expression, she could only imagine the stern, pointed look Jessica had shot her daughter behind her back. When Olivia had padded inside, Cassy turned back to Jessica, eyes half-lidded and her smile gone.

'You don't like her spending time with me,' she commented. It was not an accusation. It was merely a fact. For as much as Jessica was keen to know Cassy, she did not appreciate any interest her children showed in her at all. Alex was only five, too young to really understand what was happening, but Olivia knew she had been moved across the country and she knew something of why it had happened. She had already sussed out that Cassy was different from how the family spoke of her and it was only when Jessica sat down with her and explained a little bit that she truly began to fit pieces together. Suddenly, everything was of interest to her. Her untameable curiosity was only matched by Cassy's seemingly endless patience. She had never been around young children before, but Olivia adored anything that was magical, so much so that she would happily sit and watch Cassy do whatever it was she was doing, whether magic was involved or not, just in case.

Cassy thought it was strange. Tess thought it was cute.

'She wants to be a witch,' said Jessica flatly. 'My daughter is clever, but she isn't a witch. I don't want her to be one either, not if it means all this.'

Jessica did not have to gesture for Cassy to know what she meant. It was because of magic that they had to be uprooted. Tess and Phil were content to be wherever they would be placed, retired and occupied by their subjects as they were, but Jessica had had a job. She had two children to educate and a life to put on hold for as long as the war may last. It could be years that she was cooped up in a plot of land and only allowed out to shops when accompanied by a witch or wizard. Her children had to be educated somehow, an arrangement Cassy had put in place, her work gone and her friends unaware she had ever existed. All because of magic.

'This is your choice,' said Cassy. 'You could have said no.'

'I am not risking my children's lives,' she said stiffly. 'If I have to stay here then I will, but I hate it. And I hate how you make it sound as if you're not coming back.'

Cassy gazed at her, unable to tell her that in a month's time, there would be a very good chance she would never see her again. She said nothing, however, and took her leave after an early lunch. The urge to depart had crept up much sooner, though she found herself unable to shake her relatives hold on her long enough to even suggest she must go. For as much as she liked her relatives, they were not quite familiar; she could not cope with their continuous presence and always react genuinely to their words. She felt herself beginning to slip into a false persona as charismatic words spilt from her lips as she found herself lacking anything authentic to say. The conversation was drawn out until she could retreat after eating and she vanished from sight in an instant, hearing the start of a squeal of amazement and delight from Olivia.

Immediately, she appeared in front of a little cottage at the other end of the country. She unlatched the wooden gate and stepped towards the painted front door with little hurry or spring in her step. It was exhausting, she thought, being around people for so long when attempting to be herself. She had little in common besides a fascination with the unknown and a keen intellect. Hours spent conversing about things she hardly knew anything about or ideas and notions that passed the Lowe's by without a fighting chance of being understood was tiring.

She had forgotten how difficult it was to talk to people without a purpose behind it – with the exception of her friends, but she only had a handful of those.

The door clicked shut behind her. She tucked her shoes into the corner of the hallway, just beneath the coat stand, when her eyes flicked up to the the landing. Stood on the very top step was Sirius, his hair longer than it had been at Christmas, stubble cut short and grey socks upon his feet. He looked down at her. When he said nothing, she turned away and headed towards the kitchen. The house was stuffy as no windows were open to maximise defence and even a cooling charm could not freshen the air completely. She waved her wand, opening a window anyway before moving to put the kettle on the stove.

Sirius followed her to the little kitchen and sat in one of the seats around the small table.

'You're still angry,' he said.

The kettle began to emit a low hiss.

Cassy sighed and rubbed her eyes. 'I'm tired, not angry. Do you want a drink?'

'If you're offering,' he replied and Cassy took another mug from the cupboard above. He watched her for a time and took the steaming drink in both hands, emitting a grateful thanks. When she was finally sat opposite, Sirius finally voiced the thoughts that had been building over the past two weeks. 'It's not worry for yourself that keeps you up, is it?'

Cassy peered at him from over the rim of the mug. 'Of course not, but please don't start questioning me again because it makes being here unbearable.'

The words were harsh. They were blunt and if Cassy had said them to her father two summers ago, she reckoned he would most likely flinch at the suggestion. He knew her better now, though, and she needed him to understand.

'There is nothing I can tell you,' she pressed on as he continued to gaze at her.

'But you do have a plan. One Dumbledore helped design,' he said, not so much questioned as stated. 'If there is anything I can do, tell me.'

Sirius had not wanted to allow whatever it was his daughter was planning to slip by with only an offer of assistance. He wanted to demand what it was, to force her to explain everything she knew and everything the Headmaster and Harry had been doing the year before without any of his knowledge. He had tried to make her tell him. He had tried and tried and after several explosive arguments, Cassy had thrown open the door and left the house for two whole days.

It was not as though he did not understand the need for secrecy, nor the concept of thinking oneself old enough to manage by one's own means; Cassy was seventeen, she went to court and she had conducted herself independently for three years now following Alphard's death. Her ability to manage was not a fallacy of her young age, but a proven fact. However, that did not mean Sirius was going to allow Cassy or Harry to hide vital information in the fight against Voldemort from him easily.

He had tried once more to pull information from her when she had returned after her absence last night. She had given him a brief growl and stalked off to her room. When he had awoken this morning, she was already gone. Panic sunk into his stomach when he considered that she might have taken flight once more – he never did ask where she had gone – and almost slipped from his chair upstairs when he heard the door open by noon.

He did not want to force her from the house. The cottage was one he had purchased the year before, now unplottable and warded with the best wards the Black Family had to offer to keep the two from sight. He did so with good reason. He was Harry Potter's Godfather; Cassy was Harry's girlfriend and open advocate against Voldemort. If they were already under scrutiny before Dumbledore had died, they were certainly going to be hunted now he was gone. Therefore, the last thing he wanted to do was to force Cassy to flee from the house or make her uncomfortable enough that she agreed to take any more unnecessary trips into London just because Mad-Eye Moody had asked her to 'take a look'.

He changed topics. 'You need to stop being so tired, you are supposed to be head bridesmaid tomorrow.'

Cassy scoffed. 'I am too old to be a bridesmaid and besides, there are five guests. I would be the only bridesmaid.'

Sirius leant to rest his chin on the palm of his hand. 'You are still not on board for this wedding, are you?'

For a minute, Cassy said nothing. She frowned down into the amber liquid steaming in the mug between her hands. 'I think it's too soon. How can it last when they have spent the last year avoiding each other only then to get married with no warning?' she said after taking a long drink of her tea. 'I feel like they are getting married for the sake of getting married.'

'Some people don't wait long and besides, they've known each other years,' he said simply. 'Conflict brings people together and marriage makes them feel closer in case the worst happens.'

'That's like saying Harry and I should get married in case one of us dies this year,' said Cassy flatly. 'In fact, there is more of a foundation because we have been together longer and known each other much longer.'

She cared for Tonks dearly and Remus was always a sensible and reliable man who Cassy would be grateful was at her father's side, but that did not mean she agreed with their wedding. Though she had not mentioned it, Sirius had read the disbelief on her face when the happy couple made their announcement only two weeks prior, a mere three weeks after they had begun dating. It was too soon, she protested in the company of her father, it was a whirlwind romance that would see them locked together when they did not know if they really should be together at all. It was simply ridiculous. Sirius had merely hummed and heard her out. He had no qualms with their marriage so long as the pair were happy and while Cassy wished them all the happiness for the future, she remained perplexed by the engagement, unsure of how they felt they knew each other enough – unsure of how it was dissimilar to marrying a boy that you knew vaguely through family friends and agreed to marry for convenience sake years later and none-the-wiser to him really.

They had a simple wedding planned. Cassy had helped Tonks arrange much of it with the company of her mother, Andromeda, who seemed to have warmed to Cassy in the years she had not seen her. They were to be married by a friend of Tonks', then have a meal between the Tonks, Blacks, and Lupin's as Remus' father Lyall was to make their acquaintance for the first time. Tonks had picked out Cassy's dress, a short navy blue one with a bouquet of the most vivid, vibrant pink flowers she had ever seen. She had said it was like Cassy was a real bridesmaid if she chose her dress; Cassy had wondered if it was really the wedding Tonks wanted, but when she gently probed Tonks simply turned with a beaming smile. She was marrying Remus and that was all she wanted. So, Cassy let the doubts fall silently to the back of her mind.

Sirius shrugged at Cassy's flat response. 'If that's what you two wanted, although, I'm already paying out a lot for this wedding as the Best Man, so you should have mentioned it earlier.'

Cassy stared at her father incredulously. It was a whole ten seconds of silent staring before Sirius burst into laughter. Cassy sighed.

'Is that your way of letting me know something is on the horizon?' he asked cheekily and Cassy narrowed her eyes.

'No,' she denied firmly. 'You would know anyway, Harry would ask you.'

Sirius snorted. 'Cassy, you have never asked my permission for anything in your life and you never listen to what I say anyway. I don't expect it to start with my opinion on who you marry.'

Cassy blinked slowly. The groom always had to ask permission; it had never occurred to her that they did not need their family's blessing unless they intended to elope in the night. She settled on replying: 'We are not getting married. I'm seventeen.'

Downing the rest of his drink, Sirius placed the mug on the table and inspected his fingernails idly. 'You know, James and Lily got married the year they left school.'

'Stop!'

Sirius let out a howling laugh and Cassy growled, flustered, as she tried to find something to throw at him.

* * *

 **Welcome to year seven! The final year!**

 **Wow, so I didn't imagine getting this far realistically. When I began the story several years ago, I didn't realise how massive the task was. Yet, we're here and we're going to see it through. So, I hope you enjoy the final book on Cassy's life.**

 **Just an introduction chapter. The second one will be up soon enough too. Cassy's mulling around at the moment, doing what she can. She's facing some hard questions from Sirius and is unwilling to let him know of the secret mission they're on.**

 **Also, I think that while Cassy is pleased Tonks and Remus are happy, she would in no way understand marrying someone a few weeks after getting together. She's barely got a romantic radar half the time, as we all know, and the idea of rushing into something that like does not even begin to compute logically with her. She's not against the marriage exactly, she just doesn't quite get it either. Sirius, on the other hand, I think would just shrug it off. James and Lily got married quickly (albeit not that quickly) and they were the happiest couple he had ever met. Plus, it's an opportunity to tease Cassy.**

 **Anyway, I hope you stick with me for the year.**

 **Thanks!**


	2. Disguised and defiant

C. M. Black: Bones of a Doe

 **Chapter II: Disguised and defiant**

Diagon Alley was a name that conjured many thoughts in any British wizard's mind. Bustling streets so crowded that anything less than a firm and well-thought plan rendered the visitor immobile and vulnerable to the tossing and turning of the sea of bodies, so easily swept away by the popular flow. The vendors held all sorts of goods – potent pungent onions, stubbornly self-peeling sprouts, and pumpkins so large that they were almost impossible to lift; necklaces and rings glittered on display, false signs of protection embedded into their surfaces; watches that whispered and combs that chattered back to them noisily. Insults were flung by mirrors that lined a shopfront at every single person who passed them by without a glance, adding to a din of mindless, soulless chatter. Owls hung in large cages outside the emporium while cats prowled in their cases; it was always those who were close to eleven-years-old that wanted to enter the store, loudly begging their parents to take them so they might convince them to stray from the allowed pets for the upcoming school year. Every shop held its own appeal, be it for its ancient heritage or its bright, flashing displays.

Diagon Alley was not that place anymore. It was not empty. The street was rarely without a smattering of visitors even in the dead of night for one reason or another, but it was sparse; only a fraction of the usual families occupied the narrow, cobbled road. No one lingered to watch the new twisting words that lined the windows, the promises of summer sales and new stock just for school unseen because they were no longer there. The colours were gone from view, every shop rendered as dull and plain as their storefront would allow, left only with the embellished names and the aged paint on the sloping fascias.

Every shop except the Weasley Wizarding Wheezes.

When Cassy entered the shop, the bell ringing out overhead, she quickly surveyed the room. With a sharp glance over her shoulder and back out the window, she dropped her hood to reveal dirty-blonde hair and a rounded face with features nothing like her own.

A door at the back of the shop opened. A head of bright orange hair poked out of the gap, eye's brightening.

'Ah, hello there! Looking for anything in particular? Back to school, maybe?' asked Fred, squeezing out of the doorway and shutting it firmly behind him.

'Padfoot said you promised him some of your new products to test,' said Cassy, eyeing the shelves with interest. They were still lined with obnoxious packaging and tricks Cassy had never heard of. New displays were boldly proclaiming the best of their products in the window and scarlet bubbles bloomed from a strange fountain in the centre of the room.

Fred was silent for a moment. 'When did you first hear the name Padfoot?'

'When Norbert moved to Romania,' she replied.

Fred's eyes lit up and he jerked his head to the back room silently. 'I've got loads of stuff Padfoot can have a look at. C'mon.'

In the back room, George was sat on a large crate, his hands tinkering with a small device. He looked up at their arrival and met Cassy's false eyes only briefly before they turned to Fred with silent questioning. The room around them was small, stuffed with bags and boxes; a little desk was shoved in the far corner and piled with papers, notes hung above on the wall with photographs and diagrams to illustrate every idea and every design. A kettle was stuffed into the opposite corner and beside it an old sofa and an overflowing bin.

Cassy ran her hand over her face, removing the glamour charm without risking reaching for her wand. The blonde hair turned black and her face sharpened and her eyes widened and lightened. Her dark, slate blue eyes met the Weasley twins' brown and she smiled.

'Cassy! To what do we owe this pleasure?' beamed George.

Fred moved to take a seat opposite his brother and motioned for Cassy to sit on the next empty box.

'Your hair's short!' stated Fred in surprise, suddenly noticing that the style had not changed as the rest of her face did. She ran a hand through the shortened strands. The hair fell to her shoulders and, to her irritation, had developed a slight curl to it now the length did not weigh it down.

'Tonks had a hand in it,' she said, pulling at one of the shorter layers. 'She thinks it makes me look older.'

'I don't know about that,' said George, 'but it certainly looks different.'

'Not bad-different,' added Fred.

'Not bad-different, but definitely different,' continued George.

'Less traditional,' said Fred.

'Good,' said Cassy, looking pleased. 'Hopefully, people will not expect me to have short hair and therefore it will make my life a little bit easier.'

George hummed and leapt from his seat. He shuffled over to a nearby shelf and pulled down a small box. After a moment of rummaging, he dropped it noisily onto the nearest counter and held up several bottles, each the size of a jam jar. 'These might make things even easier.'

Cassy looked over each bottle as they were handed to her. There were five in total: brown, red, yellow, black, and white.

'You did it then?' she said.

'Of course,' said Fred. 'We've managed to get them to permanently dye hair for up to three weeks at a time. For those three weeks, the hair that then grows will also be that colour. After that, your natural black is going to show through and the colour will fade quickly from what's already been dyed too.'

'We thought that way it's easy to chop and change if you only need a new look for a little while,' added George.'

'You can dye over the colours when it's dried, but don't mix them together unless it's with the white or black to lighten or darken the colours,' said Fred, his vibrant voice taking on a grave tone. His hand came to rest mournfully on his ginger hair. Opposite, George's eyes glittered.

'His hair fell out,' he announced with glee.

'All of it,' said Fred, his eyes pinned dramatically to a distant corner.

'Not quite all of it, some patches remained,' continued George.

'We couldn't grow it back for days.'

'I told him it didn't matter if he had no hair. I've always been the better looking twin anyway.'

'I had to grow it quickly because I couldn't let my dear brother be upset to realise that, even without hair, it is I who is the handsomest,' finished Fred.

It was only then that the brothers realised that Cassy had not been watching their dramatic retelling and instead had been closely inspecting the bottles in her hands. The black bottle smelt like liquorice, something Cassy had never been fond of, yet the brown one smelt of chocolate; the white emitted a strong vanilla scent, the red smelt of strawberries, the yellow of honey and the orange of the fruit the colour was named after.

'Did you listen to anything we just said?' asked Fred, hands on his hips.

'Bits of it,' said Cassy distantly. 'These are perfect. Thank-you.'

There was no immediate reply. When she looked up, she was met with the rare sight of two sets of serious brown-eyes. They were not identical in severity. Fred had always been the more jovial twin, the more outlandish one with a weaker sense of what was appropriate to say and when. As such, his eyes were more open, not as tightly drawn as George's, who seemed to have a better understanding of what the request for help in disguise might imply. He met her eyes for a moment, before he looked back down at the device he had been tinkering with. It resembled a light-bulb, though, for some peculiar reason, it appeared as though it had sprouted spindly metal limbs. He set it aside.

'The room is warded. No one can hear anything we say,' he said, his tone conversational and yet his countenance no less severe than before.

'I noticed,' said Cassy simply.

Fred drew his body back, his hands stretched behind him on the crate in support. 'You have a plan.'

'There is nothing I can tell you,' she refuted before they had a chance to ask, although she knew they would not.

'We knew you guys wouldn't go back to school,' commented George.

'Not with Snape as the Headteacher, anyway,' said Fred.

Cassy ran her hand through her hair, cursing, not the for the first time, that it many of its layers were now too short to tie back away from her face. 'Did either of you read Betty Braithwaite's article?'

Together, Fred and George snorted.

'You mean where she interviewed Rita Skeeter?' scoffed Fred.

'Oh yeah,' sneered George, 'we read it. It's a load of utter shit.'

It was almost of no surprise to Cassy when she gazed upon the first page of the newspaper that morning. Amidst the doom and gloom of the news for the last month, she had become accustomed to seeing many familiar faces, her own included, within the pages of the Daily Prophet. However, it had been several weeks since she had seen the aged face of the old Headmaster. Beside Dumbledore's photograph was one of a curly haired woman, with glasses perched on her nose and a wide smile spread across her cheeks.

Cassy disliked Rita Skeeter. The woman was meddlesome, only printing what she wanted and what would earn her the most interest. Her articles had gotten her into trouble before, but Cassy could not bring herself to hate her. Hatred was reserved for very few people in her life and while Skeeter was annoying she was not important enough for Cassy to hate her. She had her uses, after all. Yet seeing her beaming face on the front of the paper brought forth a familiar cold disinterest from within her and she almost glazed over the headline entirely but the eyes of Dumbledore staring up from the printed page made her read on.

'I don't know how she has a job still,' said George.

'People want to discredit those they loved in life after death,' said Cassy calmly. 'Albus was so great in everything he did that people will want to pull him down to their level.'

Skeeter had finished a biography of Dumbledore a mere four weeks after his death. It was nine-hundred pages long and undoubtedly saturated with lies and would offer more questions than it could possibly hope to answer. That would not mean anything to a great deal of people, however. It did not matter than she was an untrusted informant by anyone with half-a-wit about them, the want within the world to uncover every secret Dumbledore had held so tightly to his chest would outweigh any rationality the public might have. The interview only took up a single page within the Daily Prophet, but it had said more than enough. Skeeter teased with tales of his youth, an interest in the Dark Arts and a broken home. His brother, Aberforth, who Cassy had never heard of, had been in trouble with the law several times from the sound of the article, his father too, and his mother and sister had had a gloomy story all of their own.

It mattered little to Cassy if his father had "maimed" Muggles, as Skeeter had said. Her own family was hardly a picture of perfect propriety in their actions towards those different from themselves; they had undoubtedly done worse things between them than a single man could have even imagined. A family secret or two was to be expected in every old family, Cassy's very notoriously, so the Dumbledore's having a few questionable members did not phase her at all. The fact he had tried Dark Arts, true or false, mattered not either. None of it mattered to her. Yet, she was not most people and she was not searching for an excuse to tear him apart one achievement at a time.

'Harry was furious,' she said.

'You spoke to him?' asked George.

Cassy nodded. 'This morning. He does not believe a word of it.'

'Well, it is Skeeter,' said Fred.

'Do you?' asked George curiously.

'I did not know Albus very well,' she said simply, 'but the man I knew took a lot of pride in his morals and was unafraid to do what he thought was right. Whether or not that had stemmed from a dark past, I do not know, but it matters little to me how he got to be the man he was. I have every respect for who he was when I knew him.'

Cassy knew it would have been natural for the conversation to turn to the Weasley family: how they were, what they had been doing, and the plans for Bill and Fleur's upcoming wedding, but it did not. She knew that there was an uncertainty in the household, fights about whether Ron and Ginny would return to school. Neither wanted to. They wanted to make themselves useful for the Order, but the explosive temper of their mother had squashed that idea before either had had a chance to even suggest such an idea. Bill had told her at the last meeting they had been in together. In exchange, Cassy should have described Tonks and Remus' wedding. It was a small affair as planned, with bright wild flowers in vases and a single table for all five guests and the happy couple to sit around in celebration later that evening. Neither dared leave for a honeymoon, too bound by their duty to their friends and family to fight against the Dark Lord. Even though Cassy had not whole-heartedly supported the wedding, she would admit it was a lovely, lightening affair for what had been a dull set of weeks. The conversation did not follow. There was no time in her day for it anymore. In fact, she was already cutting her time finely enough as it was by visiting Fred and George at all.

It seemed too soon that Cassy carefully placed the bottles of dye into her extended cloak pockets and moved to leave the joke shop. Neither Fred nor George asked where she was going and she did not tell. She pulled the hood up before she left the back room. The face beneath it shifted suddenly, different from before with brown hair and a long nose. They did not see her to the door.

She slipped into the quiet street easily. No one looked up, too consumed by their own business to glance in her direction. No one wished to make eye contact, not when the shop was so close to the entrance of Nocturne Alley. The district had always been infamously criminal. Everyone was aware of the types of dirty deals that went on in the narrow streets, the forbidden merchandise sold and the artefacts traded without record; everyone had known but it was only upon occasion that the newspapers would report a crime handled by the Aurors. The shops tended to be more questionable in their wares than illegal, at least on the surface; they trod the line between what was and was not allowed, pleading their case with unclear guidelines. Only in the deepest, blackest corners of the lowest shops could one find anything truly dark.

It was worse now. The alley was rife with crime because the Aurors did not know where to look. A single district of a shopping region hardly took precedence over the crimes committed all over Britain, the crimes that had increased tenfold in only four short weeks, the crimes that were done in the name of Lord Voldemort. No one had time for the dark, dingy district of Nocturne Alley, which was precisely why the remaining Order of the Phoenix members held such a keen interest in it.

It was when Cassy was only a dozen or two steps into the zone that she saw just what Kingsley meant when he placed the area high on their watch list. Occupation had doubled and business was booming. Whilst Diagon Alley was suffering under the early weight of the war, Nocturne Alley was blossoming beneath the banner of loose legalities and fast-paced freedom. Several people turned to look at Cassy as she passed silently. They glanced briefly at her long summer cloak, noting the pewter clasps and the fine silk of her shirt beneath and thought nothing of her presence. Though they could not see her face, she could not often see theirs.

It had been a long time since she had travelled the uneven streets, navigated the crooked and ancient buildings, held her breath passed a peculiar potion store that sent thick, black plumes of smoke high into the sky, dodged the grey and leathery hands that grasped wildly through the drain cover, nodded respectfully at everyone who wore more than rags, and silently refused to purchase anything from any of the strange stalls along the way. She had not forgotten it, though it was no longer as clear in her mind as it once had been. Everything fell into place as she walked, almost as though she had never been gone and it was for that reason that Mad-Eye Moody had assigned her to the talk in the first place; her manners were ever-changing and her countenance unflappable. It needed to be. It was only a corner farther when she was forced to step and twirl away from a suddenly present body exiting a nearby shop. She almost turned to growl, complain at the rudeness of the other as so many did in the dim streets, but she held her tongue before any air could even fill her lungs to begin.

'My apologies,' she said quickly and ducked her head lowly. She remained stopped for a second, her eyes trained on a spot between her and the others.

The men did not respond beyond a single deep inhale. Cassy forced her body to remain relaxed. Her hand was itching for her wand. Instead, she looked up, catching sight of the amber eyes only momentarily. She turned and hurriedly walked around the nearest corner, uncaring that it was the one she had just come from. She paused, head inclined towards the end again. Another deep sniff sounded and then a great exhale. Then, nothing.

Deeply, Cassy let out a breath of her own. With her wand now in her hand, she crept back to the street and peered gingerly around the corner. Not far in the distance was the broad back of Fenrir Greyback and a smaller, thinner man whom Cassy had not immediately recognised. The man scuttled behind Greyback, not at his side and yet not out of sight.

Perfect, thought Cassy; it was just the person she was looking for, though she would rather he not ran directly into her and almost had her head cleaved from her shoulders without a second thought. It was not that Cassy was looking for Greyback specifically, but he was a name on a very long list of people of interest Moody had handed her the day before. She had had all of half-an-hour to memorise thirty faces and the names to match before he promptly snatched the page back and vanished as abruptly as he had arrived. His words to her were brief. She was to recall everything any of them did. She was to remember every word of every conversation, every person they spoke to and every place they entered. He wanted to know everything they did, because someone amongst the names was likely tied to the disappearances of Muggle-borns from within the Ministry's own walls.

Cassy toyed with a Galleon in her pocket while her wand in the opposite hand sent a small tingle through her hand as the Galleon warmed and the inscription changed. A short message encircled the coin and Cassy was ever thankful that Hermione had thought of the communication method those two years ago, for now Kingsley would know she was trailing Greyback and his mysterious colleague. The coin cooled quickly and she knew he had yet to find another name from the list to follow himself. He and Cassy were the only two within the Order who were acutely familiar with many political faces besides, perhaps, Tonks who would recognise workers from the Ministry from her own work.

Through the shadowed spaces, the darkness granted by the overhanging roofs and the thickly clouded sky, Cassy stepped in time with the men in front. Every movement was muffled with careful magic, her use cautious for Greyback seemed to sense it, hear it crackle in the air around them and taste it on his tongue with every breath. He had submitted so far to his wolf – embraced it, more likely – that he had long forgotten many human traits that Remus fought to retain. He was mad, yes, murderous and merciless, but he was far stronger than Cassy was willing to test; he was protected from magic in a way werewolves in their rawest, most honest form were and that was terrifying.

The twisting and turning finally came to an end when the two men finally entered a small pub. The Dragon's Den was an old pub. It had low ceilings and half-a-dozen tables spread over an uneven floor. The windows only let in a meagre light; their bottle-green hue was nearly impossible to see through and Cassy had never entered the place herself. Carefully, she aged herself, quickly sweeping her hair up with a transfigured ornate claw. She gingerly poked her head through the door, noting with relief that Greyback and the man were not the only ones inside, nor had she interrupted a private meeting. They had, however, been joined by two more men and a single woman at a central table.

Cassy walked to the bar, meeting the bartender's eye casually. 'An Astronomer's Ailment, please.'

The bartender peered at her over his large, crooked nose for a moment and nodded. 'Comin' right up, Ma'am.'

Coolly, Cassy glanced around the pub, surveying every occupant with a seemingly nonchalant gaze.

'Strange for a woman to be in here by herself,' said the bartender.

'I'm waiting for a friend but he's always late,' she said, smiling. She handed over a few coins in return for the cocktail. The dark purple liquid shifted and shimmered with what appeared to be a galaxy within the liquid itself. Taking the glass, Cassy moved to sit two tables over from where the group of Death Eater's had gathered. A handful of coins turned in her hands as she appeared to be idly counting her change; her eyes lingered on a Galleon as it burnt with a response from Kingsley. She had only sent the message as she waited at the bar. It had been short and pointed: Greyback and Bellatrix – Dragon's Den. They were the only words needed for Kingsley replied: Stay there. Do not engage.

Idly, she sipped at her drink and plucked an abandoned newspaper from a nearby table to occupy herself. As her eyes slowly scanned the pages, she listened to the low murmuring of the room that grew louder and bolder with every new occupant that entered as the smell of fried breakfasts began to ruminate from the back room.

'I'm not Muggleborn!' said the shaking man loudly.

'Your mother was a Mudblood and your father a Half-Blood, your blood is so diluted you might as well be,' hissed Bellatrix heatedly. 'Which is why if you want to live you need to prove yourself useful and loyal.'

'I don't know any Muggleborns very well. I was a Slytherin - '

'And a weak one at that,' interrupted Poole. 'Last in all our classes, which is why you're perfect for finding them.'

'I don't know any Muggleborns to know where they might be hiding!' he protested desperately. 'I can't help you. Anything else, yes, I can help you with anything else but I don't know any more than you do.'

'I'm not saying you're to know where to find them because you know them, you just have to be able to think like one of them,' continued Poole simply. 'If you grew up in a house like them then there's no reason you won't be of help to the Snatchers. See, none of us know mudbloods quite like someone with dirty blood themselves, we need someone... like you.'

Snatchers, repeated Cassy in her mind. What were they?

'I-I'll try,' said the man shakily. Cassy wanted to smack him for giving in after such a damning speech.

'Good,' said Poole.

Cassy risked a glance over to the meek man. In the dim light from the dusty windows, she could see three lines across the side of his face closest to her. Each was pink and puckered, jagged at the edges like an old wound had been ripped open again and again and left to heal with only time as its medicine; however it was also then that the light caught his dark hair and white strands glistened boldly, leading her eyes to trail down his neck and to another dark scar that peaked out over the collar of his shirt. He was a werewolf. She was sure of it.

Her eyes then darted to Greyback. That was why such a high-profile Death Eater had escorted a man so mild without dragging him through the streets with his claws sunk deep into his flesh: he was one of his.

With her vision back to the newspaper, the crossword half-done by whoever had had it last, Cassy mulled over the idea of Snatchers and what it would mean if they were what she thought they were, what it would mean for ordinary witches and wizards or if nothing would change at all because they were already out there without the Order's knowledge anyway. From the corner of her eyes, she watched the man, a Snatcher, lean back on two legs of his chair and raise his hand for another drink. A man scurried over to them, his head bowed low and collected up their glasses with a promise of fresh drinks in no more than a minute.

'If you see anything of interest, you report it to me,' said Bellatrix, speaking for the first time since Cassy had entered the pub. 'If I tell you to do something, you do it, no matter what.'

Greyback growled. The pub fell silent, the air suddenly so thick with tension it was almost palpable.

Bellatrix sighed and rolled her eyes dismissively. 'He might be one of yours, but if he's going to work for the Dark Lord then he needs to answer to his rules!'

Greyback growled again, softer this time. 'Werewolves do not answer to anyone, but for Lord Voldemort, I will make an exception.'

There was a clatter of glasses dropping to the ground. The noise invited panic – a hushed wave of hysterical mutters flooded the room and chairs scraped back in what was most likely an effort to flee the name, but Bellatrix spoke faster than their feet could move.

'Do not use the Dark Lord's name,' she hissed dangerously, her dark eyes narrowed tightly and her long fingernails embedded in the soft wood of the table. All movement stopped again, as though the slightest sound might turn her attention away from the imposing man and towards them instead.

Greyback barred his teeth in return.

Silence followed and Cassy was grateful when the crooked, painted door at the other end of the pub opened. Light flooded in across the uneven floor for just a moment, a silhouette formed for just a second before the dark figure emerged to reveal an old man with white hair and hazel eyes. Cassy smiled, her hand raised for her disguise had changed by some years since she and Kingsley had established them this morning. He slid into the seat opposite her at the tiny table. His hazel eyes never once swept to the table of Death Eaters so close by.

'You are late,' she said.

* * *

 **Another short chapter! This was hard to write because I have so many ideas about what society would be like before and after the Ministry fell that I just don't have time to shove it all in so I had to rewrite and cut loads of unnecessary stuff out (you know I love my unnecessary details).**

 **I wanted to show a little bit of what life is like for Cassy at the moment before everything kicks off, but also, I am a firm believer that not everyone who joined Voldemort was a believer of blood-statuses. Like Fenrir, I think he's in it for Werewolf freedom and dominance. I don't think he'd actually give a damn about whether they're from a good family or not. He's using Voldemort because it's his best chance of uprising while society is being overturned anyway, so he'd likely be in a better position at the end of it all by helping. I like to think there is lots of tension around who joined and why.**

 **Also, just as a warning, this will likely get darker than the book ever was. I intend to explore the more gruesome areas that are suggested in the books.**

 **Hope you like it.**

 **Thanks!**


	3. Running errands

C. M. Black: Bones of a Doe

 **Chapter III: Running errands**

Everything was ablaze. The once warm crackling of a fire now boomed in thunderous echoes across the sky. Thick, black fumes plumed relentlessly, casting only darkness across the starry expanse and settling so low the layer of smoke almost brushed the tiled roofs. Though the streets were narrow and winding, they were packed with people. Many of them were not still, many were sprinting, screaming, crying; some were crawling, some were fighting.

The flames had ripped through half a street of houses and licked the sky with orange tendrils, waving to those below who battled to extinguish it. The houses that were unburnt were not untouched. Across the yellow stone, words were carved and slashes gouged the old rock in ugly, unclean lines. The message was the same in each house, worded differently, but the uniform all the same. "Traitor" one read; "Harbourer" read another.

If there had been anything written on the houses that burnt so brightly in the night, the words were completely engulfed by the flames.

'You need to stand,' demanded Cassy as she skidded to a halt suddenly. She stooped and gripped the upper arms of a man unlikely to be much older than herself. Blood ran down his face from a split on his hairline, long but shallow and pulling apart with every shift of his facial muscles. He gaped at her, still on his hands and knees.

'Black?' he said and Cassy nodded slowly, taking a moment to pull her eyes away from the bustling street and focusing on him entirely. She regarded him for a moment.

'Jones,' she said in lieu of an actual greeting. She had not seen the other for two years as the older Ravenclaw had left when Voldemort had publicly returned, but she remembered his light eyes and blond hair from when he would stand with Steven and Shandy in the corridors or sit beside Steven at lunch.

Cassy had not heard from Steven yet.

'Jones,' she said sternly, 'you need to stand or you will be trampled on. You cannot stay on the ground.'

'They killed my mum.'

A second passed like an age as Cassy stared straight into his uncomprehending eyes. The trembling that shook his body now reached from the surface to the bone.

'Oh my God, Death Eater's killed my mum. They killed my mum,' he repeated again and again. His hands fisted in his hair, smearing thick crimson through the pale locks. Cassy tried to ignore the intrusive thought that questioned just whose blood it was.

'Up, now,' she commanded and with a strong tug, hauled the man to his feet. He stumbled, his weight suddenly pressed on her shoulders for support, but she leant him towards a small brick wall and he slouched onto the top with little resistance. Gingerly, Cassy released her hold on him. She almost expected him to slump straight off the back of the wall and into the front garden, but he stayed put.

'Black, my mum - '

'Was anyone else with you?' interjected Cassy, craning her neck for the first sight of a healer or someone who could handle Jones. There were fewer people in the streets now. The sudden rush had died as everyone who could escape seemed to have taken their chance to do so. Cassy held up her free hand, her wand tightly enclosed in her right, and drew the attention of a distant figure.

'I asked if anyone was with you?' she repeated and turned back to Jones. He gazed at her with glassy eyes, his skin hardly coloured even by the nearby flames now. 'Jones!'

'My mum-'

Cassy glanced up as a figure appeared at her side. The sleeves of their denim jacket were rolled up, their hands smeared with blood. A brown watch was strapped to their wrist, the gold band surrounding the face was marked with a handful of shallow scratches from rough-housing and working his calloused hands in the family garden.

'Merlin, Jones, look at you!' Ron Weasley's blue eyes stared down at the old Ravenclaw.

Confident Ron was who he appeared to be, Cassy turned to him. 'What are we doing with them?'

Ron shrugged. The Order of the Phoenix did not have an exact plan of action for any situation. In the few short weeks since they had joined, Cassy and Ron had found that they had virtually no plan at all for any situation beyond their intelligence missions. Even then, it was always a vague outline consisting of 'do not get caught' and 'remember absolutely everything'. They had not had time to even brief for those minimal instructions; they arrived at the hurried demand of Dedalus Diggle's spider monkey Patronas to find a village in chaos and smoke-choked air.

Cassy had caught glimpses of some of the others. Her father was about, never one to sit out, and vibrant pink that could only belong to one person popped up above a huddle of young, crying children. She had yet to see Remus, although she supposed he was not far behind. Kingsley had nodded at her as she sprinted passed, his wand emitting a thick surge of water onto a burning house at the other end of the street. He had shouted to her, asked her to gather the people and to get them away, but she had no idea where to take them, unable to move them from the street to the hospital in many of their shocked states and not particularly well-versed in healing herself.

Ron wiped his hands on his jeans on which Cassy noted an already patchy streak of blood.

'It's not mine,' said Ron, having noticed her gaze. 'A woman was bleeding earlier.' Absently, he rubbed his hands around his waist, as though touching the woman's wounds in his mind. 'I took her to the village hall and handed her over to a group there. I don't know if they're healers, but there were a couple of injured people lingering around outside, so...'

'Help me, then,' said Cassy. She heaved one of Jones' arms around her shoulder and waited for Ron to do the same. There once was a time Cassy would have loathed to ask Ron for help and there was a time he would have loathed to give it, but without complaint he joined her and heaved the older man up effortlessly with his greater height. They stumbled a few steps together before finding a joint rhythm in which to half-lead and half-drag the body between them.

Although the streets had appeared to have quietened in the minutes Cassy had been present, it was only the centre road of the ancient village that had really cleared at all. Once the pair had broken through a line of trees on a grassy corner, people littered their sights. It was as though they had wanted to flee but had not had the heart to do it, or, as Cassy thought, they had nowhere to flee to. Like Jones, there were bodies resting on the walls, bloodied and exhausted. They all looked up as Cassy and Ron passed, all of those who were able to, and there was a faint and uncomfortable recognition in their eyes as they did. Hateful words and heated blame were sure to spill from their lips later, when they had gathered their wits and tended their wounds, but Cassy hoped the anger was at Voldemort and not them, not at the Order of the Phoenix for standing against him, antagonising his uprising with small and effective resistance, not at Cassy for urging people to rise and then standing amongst a mess she had not helped to prevent.

There was nothing that could have been done. The family had gone into hiding upon their own decision, untied to the Order and unknown to anyone in it besides Diggle.

She was certain they were all dead. The entire family would have died at the hands of the Death Eaters, better dead than caught, at least because death had a chance of being swift. Half the street was likely dead with them, blamed for harbouring wanted individuals without any clear indication anyone had known they were there at all. Cassy saw the point in all of it. She saw beyond the destruction and vandalism that brought only joy to Voldemort's followers; it was not about chaos this time, but about making a point. The words charred into the buildings were a message, a threat, to anyone who was thought to be helping undesirable people. It was a promise that sympathisers would be killed, good blood or no. It would strike fear into the hearts of the desperate and bore paranoia in one's neighbours. Everyone would be afraid that they would be blamed for someone else's mistake, unless, of course, they turned them in first.

'It's clever,' muttered Cassy when she and Ron moved away from Jones' shuddering body and left him in the care of an older gentleman. 'It's clever to make people think they have no choice and therefore create no choice for them.'

'What do you mean?' asked Ron.

Realising she had joined Ron in half-way through her thoughts, Cassy looked back towards where the flames still raged above the treetops with the intention of providing him with some vague direction of the conversation.

'I mean the entire situation is a statement,' she said, her wand tapping against her lips. 'Everyone is punished for one person's perceived sins. Everyone was to blame for the failure of another and on such a scale. An entire village burnt for just one house. People will fear each other in case they do something they cannot control.'

'You think that's what this is?' asked Ron warily. There was no real questioning in his tone. 'How are we supposed to get support when the people here won't even speak a word to us?'

Cassy gazed at the wounded outside of the old stone building. Swiftly, she turned on her heel and began to stride back to the street they had come from, her wand clenched in her first.

'We are not. That's the point.'

* * *

In the space of a few short weeks, it had become like a second nature for Cassy to lurk on street corners, her hood pulled up and her wand hidden inside a pocket but firmly grasped in her fist. She stood leaning against a house, its redbrick darkened to a murky brown from the distant yellow light of the lamppost. The curtains were drawn and the occupants had long since locked the door for the night. Faintly, the sound of snuffling could be heard as the family's dog inspected the letterbox, knowing someone was outside but not interested enough to begin barking. In front of the house was a car, almost bumper to bumper with another of equally impressive value. Cassy had no interest in cars, but even she could tell the quality of the vehicles on the street were above what Harry's uncle Vernon had owned when she had dropped by unannounced a few years prior.

Beside her, dressed in an equally dark hooded jacket and corduroy trousers was Neville. The two had not seen each other more than a handful of times since the beginning of summer. Neville was not yet seventeen, his birthday painfully close to Harry's and despite the Order of the Phoenix having become desperate enough to induct Cassy and Ron into their ranks although not officially having left Hogwarts yet, they would not run the risk of being traced by underage magic from Neville. Yet, he and Cassy stood on the street in the early hours of the morning with their wands hidden but firmly grasped, ready to attack at the first sign of someone unwanted infiltrating their senses. They uttered only short sentences to each other since they met not an hour earlier. There was a quick exchange of passwords and vague allusions to past events to prove their identities before they fell into a comfortable silence once outside the house. They commented briefly on things they saw, quick exchanges of observations from the shutting of curtains to a small cat crossing the black street.

Neville should not have been there. It was purely Cassy's decision to have him wait in the brisk summer night with her, or as purely as it could be with Neville having raised his desire to be there firmly on the last time they had seen one another, tucked away in the old servant's kitchen of his Grandmother's home. They could not Apparate, for the Apparition of a minor was always logged by the Ministry of Magic whether it was side-long or not. It mattered not, for a simple Apparition to Neville's house would not be so strange from Bristol where his relatives were known to live. Besides, Cassy had thought of an interesting way to get them from Bath to Bristol that was certainly untraceable by the Ministry and would have Death Eaters' heads reeling.

'There she is,' muttered Neville.

A plastic front door opened, the click of the handle like thunder on a clear night. A single figure stepped out, dressed in jeans and a thin cardigan. In her arms was a thin, dark coat and hanging from her side was a small, beaded bag. Immediately, her dark eyes turned towards them and a wand emerged from beneath her coat. Two pairs of hands rose passively in the air, one just high enough for a hood to be pulled down to reveal Cassy's pale face.

'In 1993, what was pulled from the hat?' questioned Hermione without hesitation. She knew Cassy would be there, her grip therefore looser than it probably should have been and her eyes flickering around them with too much distraction, searching for a real enemy.

'The sword of Gryffindor,' answered Cassy easily.

Hermione lowered her wand and in one hurried motion, crossed the street and swept Cassy and Neville into an aching embrace. Neville hugged back just as tightly, muttering a greeting into her ear through the thick tangle of curly brown hair. Cassy moved her arm to rest on Hermione's back briefly, her eyes alert over her shoulder. She pulled away and Hermione was forced to let her go. She stepped back too, her face illuminated by the insipid yellow light of the street-light, revealing silvery tracks on her face, old and blurred through an effort to scrub them away. Cassy almost wanted to ask, but she surveyed the street one more time before jerking her head to the left.

'Come on, we need to go.'

Hermione did not feel the need to ask about her plans. She was rarely aware of them before and although that might have bothered Hermione years ago, she no longer cared to arrange and rearrange any of Cassy's plans or intentions. It was a funny sort of trust, Cassy would say, because they were trusting her with their safety, their lives, and she doubted they had even second guessed their silence. It was completely unnatural. No one should trust in another so entirely, she had always thought that, always thought the only person to ever truly rely on was to be yourself; even with her Uncle Alphard, Cassy had done what she wanted and what she considered best and so she did now, breaking the law by engaging in battles in the streets and helping a covert group try and bring down a flourishing organisation with no authority to do so. She trusted them back, just as fiercely. What they were going to do in less than a month, the pressure and the uncertainty, was something they had never faced before, not together and not apart and Cassy wondered if that trust would endure. A realistic voice forced her to consider what would happen if it did not, a voice of childhood, perhaps, arguing against a more confident tone that said they would be fine as long as they stayed together.

Her muse came to an end when the three of them had walked almost half-a-mile from Hermione's home. They stopped in the middle of a narrow street, cars lined on either side and nothing more than a stray cat weaving lazily between them. A few lights were on, no doubt bedrooms belonging to the few children who were lucky enough to have already broken up for the summer holidays. When the three were confident there were no peeking eyes through the snugly closed curtains, Cassy reached into her pocket and pulled out a little object no bigger than an egg. With her wand in her other hand, she placed it on the ground in the centre of the road and tapped it once. Stepping back, Neville and Hermione watched in awe as the object grew bigger and bigger.

In front of them stood a large, proudly shining motorbike that screamed Sirius Black.

'What -' Hermione cut herself off. 'Cassy, you don't have a licence!'

Neville laughed as he inspected the side car. 'Hermione, I don't think you can get a licence for a flying motorbike.'

'It flies?'

When Hermione's head shot back around to Cassy, she found them other already seated on the vehicle, staring expectantly. 'Did I never mention the bike?'

'No!' Hermione folded her arms for a moment, before reluctantly sighing. 'Why can't I go in the side cart?'

'Believe it or not, I'm actually taller than the pair of you now, so I need the room,' said Neville, worming his way down into the leather seat comfortably. 'Besides, I called it on the way here.'

Both he and Cassy stared at her so expectantly that Hermione wanted to say they had planned it just to annoy her.

With another great sigh, she dropped her beaded bag onto Neville's lap and carefully passed over a large wicker basket that housed a grumpy looking Crookshanks. She gingerly hiked a leg over the seat to sit behind Cassy.

'This is how you got here?' asked Hermione warily.

Neville beamed as he tucked the cat securely into the footwell and turned to Cassy with a thumbs up. Cassy started the engine.

'Hold on tight,' he said.

Hermione's hands wound firmly around Cassy's waist as the engine revved noisily. Before she could comment about how attention-attracting the sound was at that time of night, she let out a squeal as the motorbike shot into the air. Her fingers dug firmly into Cassy's sides, her head berried in her shoulder to block out the sight of the city of Bath suddenly growing smaller beneath them. The roar of the engine muffled the continuous short squeaks. Tiny lights glimmered beneath them, clustering in the centre of the city before dissipating quickly as the houses thinned and the the street-lights became fewer and further between. They remained high, an invisible barrier protecting them from much of the howling wind, muffling it until they were able to talk in raised voices if they so wished; Cassy did not charm the rush away entirely, far too fond of the sensation to dull completely despite Hermione's apparent churning stomach.

'I hate you,' she announced as they swooped lower to avoid a thick layer of cloud.

'I know,' called Cassy in return, grinning.

'You did this on purpose,' accused Hermione. 'There must have been a hundred other ways to get back!'

Cassy neither agreed nor denied this claim. She merely looked over to Neville, who threw his head back in laughter and leant over the edge of the sidecar to admire the view beneath them in all its wonder. Hermione's hand grasped uselessly at the air in a frantic but stiff attempt to pull him back upright.

They continued to sore at an incredible pace, faster than any motorbike should be able to go. In the night sky, they were almost invisible. The faintest outline might be scarcely seen, easily mistaken for a passing helicopter. Once again, lights far beneath them began to flicker into sight and strings of white pathed narrow streets. Before they could grow too close together and they hit the centre of Bristol, Cassy released the throttle on the motorbike and began to gently guide their descent.

Neville pointed to a field a short distance away. 'There it is!'

Although the landing was not particularly smooth, the vehicle jolted and almost tossed Neville out of his sidecar, Cassy considered it a job well done. The motorbike was still in one piece – Sirius would never have to know it was taken from the spare room – and neither Neville nor Hermione had died and Hermione had not killed Cassy for her, admittedly, unnecessarily fast drive. Yet.

'I really hate you,' said Hermione, struggling off the seat and slouching onto the floor as her legs turned to jelly.

'It's not like we crashed,' said Cassy, sliding from the seat and stretching her legs with an ease that only made Hermione's brows furrow deeper.

'Tell me why we couldn't just Apparate?' demanded Hermione. She crawled around to the sidecar and carefully inspected Crookshank's basket, cooing softly at the thickly puffed orange fur and startled yellow eyes.

Neville passed her bag back to her. 'The Ministry logs minor's Apparating, don't they? Normally, it wouldn't be a problem because it's not like they usually actively track it, but we're not sure exactly who's in the Ministry anymore and what they're going to be watching. I know I shouldn't have come tonight, but...'

He trailed off, but Hermione smiled gratefully at him. Her eyes shone in the darkness, unusually bright and pulled tight with thinly veiled tenseness. It was one of the reasons Cassy had not fought Neville at all on his decision to be there; she was never very good at knowing what to say. She would muddle through it if she had to, if she was the only one who could, but it was better left to someone like Neville who always knew what to do and what to say with his superior empathy and patient mind.

'The Order is falling to bits,' added Cassy as she shrunk the motorcycle and placed it in her pocket, 'as you will soon see.'

'Is it that bad?' she asked fretfully and Cassy merely gave her a long sideways look before placing her hand between them all expectantly. Silently, Neville and then Hermione placed their hands on top of her own and with a sudden twist of their stomachs, they vanished from the dark garden. When tendrils of colour stopped blurring and bending, a large living room was thrown into focus. A grand fireplace stood proudly in the centre of the longest wall, arching windows stood opposite, though their curtains were drawn; a patterned sofa stretched widely across an old rug and a lengthy table stood in front of the sofa with a big bouquet of blooming flowers sat neatly in a vase on the surface. Upon the walls, eyes of cracked and worn portraits flickered open for only a moment before they returned to their slumber. Several of them were covered or the spaces where paintings used to occupy were now blank with only a nail and a faded patch of wallpaper to mark they had ever been there.

'Where are we?' asked Hermione.

'My house,' said Neville. 'Don't worry about Gran. She's still asleep – hopefully.'

While Hermione gazed around Neville's home with curiosity, Cassy focused on removing her shoes and pulling off the hooded jacket before she expired from heat exhaustion in the dreadfully hot house. She placed her boots near the fireplace and off of the rug and her folded jacket rested now on a disused reading chair tucked in a far corner. It was not the first time Cassy had been to Neville's house. After all, his Grandmother and Alphard had been firm friends and nothing had changed in the time that he had been gone, with the exception of a different bouquet of flowers and a new photograph of Neville upon the mantelpiece.

She carefully sat in an armchair, leaving the sofa for the other two.

'You can sit down, Hermione,' said Neville kindly as she slowly circulated the room with roaming eyes.

'Oh? Oh, yes, sorry,' said Hermione, startled. She dropped herself into a seat beside Neville and nearest to Cassy. Her hands folded in her lap and her shoulders suddenly tensed, as though having to relax had caused her an intense shock.

Carefully, Cassy watched her. Her gaze noted each small nuance, every small twitch and flinch, every restless shift of Hermione's fingers as she tried to focus in on what Neville was explaining to her. Hermione's eyes followed his hands when they stretched and pointed to each portrait hung on the walls, or each old photograph she asked after. Her brown eyes remained fixed on the object of the conversation and her lips spilt more and more obscure questions with each lull in the conversation. Neville obliged her. She spoke about the things around them in great length, though his eyes remained often fixed warmly to his friend beside him. For a second, his eyes flickered to Cassy, who met them with steeled certainty. In that moment, Neville came to an acute understanding that had him rounding on Hermione with only gentle hands and a soft voice.

'Hermione,' he said, 'what's wrong?'

There was a pause. Hermione stared at him for a time, her lips opened to protest and deny, but the words never made it from her throat. The longer she locked eyes with Neville, the more her shoulders sagged and her lip trembled.

Suddenly, she doubled over. A quiet, breathless sound emerged from between her hands that were tightly clamped over her face. Her shoulders that had relaxed in defeat seized again high up towards her ears and the tremble spread from her mouth to her toes as her whole body began to shudder. She was pulled in close to Neville's chest. His head ducked to try and catch a glimpse of her face, but her hands remained firmly unmoving.

'It's okay,' he said. 'It's okay to cry.'

A large sob left Hermione. 'I'm sorry!'

Neville hushed her. Over her bushy hair, he looked at Cassy and she frowned back in return.

'Hermione, what's wrong?' asked Cassy, her voice neither as soft as Neville's nor as sharp as she had expected it to sound. There was still an element of command in her tone, one which left Hermione no option but to respond for it promised Cassy would not let the issue be swept away.

With a deep breath, the other finally straightened in her seat. She rubbed her hands along the rough material of her jeans and breathed again. That was all she did for several minutes and it was after one particularly deep inhale that she finally spoke.

'I erased my parents' memories of me,' she stated, her voice unsurprisingly strong and composed for the words she said. 'They're going to sell the house and emigrate to Australia at the end of summer.'

Silence followed. Cassy and Neville stared at one another, then at Hermione, then back to one another. Cassy nodded to their friend, whose eyes were locked on the empty fireplace ahead of her, and Neville widened his eyes in response and silent protest that he should have to be the one to say anything. Neither knew what they could do to ease the situation; neither had expected that to be the cause of her sorrow.

Finally, although it had actually been no more than a few seconds, Neville brought his hand up and wound it around Hermione's shoulders once more. She shrugged him off, shaking her head and sniffing loudly.

'It's okay,' she said as she wiped the straggling tears from her ruddy cheeks. 'It's better this way, it's just that everything is so final now and I don't even know where they're going to live over there.' She rose from her seat and moved to the wicker basket. Sticking her fingers through the holes at the front, she kept her eyes focused on the cat as she spoke again: 'Is it alright if I let him out?'

'Sure,' said Neville. He gazed at the back of her head as she scooped the monstrously sized feline into her arms. 'We'll help you find them again, you know, once everything is over.'

From where Cassy was seated, she could see the corners of Hermione's mouth tug up just slightly.

'I know,' she said softly.

* * *

 **Yay, Hermione's here! Two more chapters before Harry finally makes his appearance. I like the idea that Ron would be involved in Order activities, regardless of what his mother would want, even if he wasn't friends best friends with Harry.**

 **Let me know what you think.**

 **Thanks!**


	4. Making plans to plan

C. M. Black: Bones of a Doe

 **Chapter IV: Making plans to plan**

There was something about alchemy that was fascinating. Being able to transform one material into another was something that was hardly spectacular to witches and wizards beyond the age of three, but alchemy was something entirely different. There was a finesse to it that Cassy had appreciated where her friends had not. More times than she could recall while she had been studying it for her NEWTs she had had to restrain her enthusiastic rambling. Every project brought something new to the equation, complicating and yet simplifying the art; she adored the struggle required to make even the simplest of advancements.

In a bag hidden in the depths of her bedroom in the hidden house she shared with her father, there were several books full of scribbled theories and untested ideas; anything from random passing thoughts to whole projects, both the complete and incomplete. A particularly thick book had been dedicated to unconnected concepts surrounding lycanthropy and the possibility of using alchemy as a cure – the practice so different from using transfiguration or potions to change the very cells that composed the human body. It was painfully empty at the moment. No more than a handful of pages were marked with short, sharp notes and inked diagrams.

'Cassy?'

Swiftly, Cassy was brought away from her thoughts. She peered up to find Neville smiling at her with his eyebrows raised high towards his hairline.

'We lost you for a moment there,' he teased. 'What's got you thinking so hard, then?'

They both looked down at the silver band in her hand. Cassy was aware that Hermione had also paused in reading her book – or Cassy's book she had helped herself to off the shelf – and was watching her curiously too. There was a sense of pride she did not expect the others to understand as she held up the plain silver band.

'I made it,' she said. 'In fact, you both have something I made for you too, but you have to promise me that once they are on, you will not take them off.'

Both Neville and Hermione raised their eyebrows. The explanation was not extensive and Cassy was certain it left them with more questions than it had answered, but she said nothing more until she pulled another small trinket from her bag. She gave the bracelet to Neville and passed Hermione a small, circular pendant in gold. Curiously, they both inspected the items, neither finding the slightest of blemishes on the smooth metals. Hermione held hers by the long chain up to the light of the window.

'What do they do?' she asked knowingly.

'I can't tell you,' replied Cassy, routeing through her bag once more. 'It's better if neither of you knows so no one can force it out of you.'

It was a peculiar response. Even she had to acknowledge that it would not set their minds much at ease, but Cassy was not about to unveil what the purpose of them was. Delicately, she ran her fingers over the small ring in her bag, a final charm made for Harry, carefully designed to be as unnoticeable as possible, so indistinct in appearance that no one would think to take it from him. The others were painfully plain too, so ordinary compared to the trinkets on sale that promised protection and luck. There were no runes carved into the surface, instead, they lay deep inside the twisted metals, hidden like everything else contained within.

She paused her thoughts and instead stood, stretching her long legs. The heels of her boots clicked on the old, uneven floorboards as she walked towards the large open window. She pulled it shut, uncaring if the summer breeze had been the only thing to make her time in the house bearable; they could not risk being overheard anymore, even if Cassy had wards up to make her aware the moment anyone entered the garden. She then moved to sit opposite the armchair Hermione occupied and plucked a glass of water from the side-table, the ice already half-melted.

Colourful books with shining titles, pots and pans, a handful of plates and bowls, and much much more cluttered the ground. Papers were strewn hazardously in vague piles, some rolled carefully while others had been dumped at the earliest convenience. A collection of blankets, far more than the four they needed, were piled on the sofa Neville leant his back against. Upon pillows sat water flasks and beside them were already bags of dried foods and tins with expiry dates verging into the next century. A mound of coins sat nearest to Neville. His hands worked to collect them into small piles and mark a line for every ten Galleons on a scrap of parchment.

The money was theirs – Cassy and Neville's. They had both pulled what money they could from their accounts; Neville's Grandmother had not even scolded him when she had received a letter stating he had withdrawn nearly all of his trust fund, a quick explanation that if he was going to be serious about fighting the Dark Lord then he needed not to take unnecessary risks by venturing into the heart of London frequently was all she needed to smile and congratulate his clever thinking. It had not been all of it for either of them. Cassy doubted that they could carry it all and doubted even more that it would be needed. At some point, she asserted, they were going to have to beg, borrow and steal to get by. It was simply not possible to go to a supermarket or into a store and always buy whatever they needed. There would be times when they would surely just need to take what they could, break and enter, lie and cheat to be able to keep going. Besides, no one could say how long they might be searching for. It could be months or years, a lifetime.

'I know I am not being very helpful being so vague, but I am trying to plan ahead,' she said to the others.

Neville marked down another line, undisturbed in his task by the bracelet fixed upon his left wrist. However, Hermione frowned.

'And what does your idea of ahead involve?' she asked.

At this, Neville paused and looked to Cassy too. Idly, Cassy toyed with the glass in her hand for a moment before she set it down again. She looked between them both with sharp scrutiny they had both had years to get used to, but there was something about the intensity of her stare right then – a lioness against her sisters, focused and dominating, that had both Neville and Hermione drawn entirely into her presence without either of them realising it. When Cassy knew she had their attention, her fingers clasped together and elbows against her knees, she carefully considered her words.

'I think we need to establish a place we all know so if we get separated we can give ourselves time to meet up again,' she said. She reached behind her and pulled a notebook and pencil out from amongst the tower of books. 'We need a waiting time, a limit on how long the others stay for before moving on with the task again.'

'We're not likely to be separated, though, are we?' said Neville.

Cassy looked at Hermione, who was biting her lip.

'I am aware of how this will sound,' began Cassy, 'but Harry is the most important person in Britain right now. He is the only one who can defeat the Dark Lord, so it is imperative that we do everything we can to keep him alive.'

It sounded so selfish, so careless. It sounded as though she thought their lives were nothing. Far from that, she valued their lives so much, their presence, their happiness, but logically, they were all second to Harry. Harry was the only hope they had.

'I will gladly die for him if it comes to it, as I would for any of you,' she continued, hardly pausing to allow the first sentence to sink into their heads. 'What it comes down to, though, is that without Harry no one stands a chance. He must be our first priority.'

A heavy silence filled the fresh air of the room. She could see her words churning in their minds. The mere idea of separating brought terrible ideas into all of their minds, dire situations with deadly consequences, but Cassy had been contemplating the face it was necessary for weeks; she had been formulating ideas since the very day Dumbledore died. In the best case scenario, the four would meet up again in a forest or by a lake with all limbs attached and no life-changing injuries to bare; in the worst case scenarios, no one appeared to find a lone teen standing amongst the moss and rocks and they were forever to wonder if anyone would come at all, if they left then they feared they would miss them, but if they stayed they left the rest of the country to die because only the four of them shared the knowledge of the Horcruxes.

'If it is a choice between us, then you must go for him,' urged Cassy with no room for debate.

'I see the logic,' said Hermione reluctantly. 'You're right: without him, we're all dead anyway. There's every chance one of us will die and it can't be him.'

Had Cassy not steeled herself through the years, she would have flinched at the unquestioning acceptance in her friend's voice.

Suddenly, Neville's fist slammed down onto the floor. The bang sent both Cassy and Hermione into the air, hands halfway to their wands and eyes wide in search of a threat. He was on his feet and an instant later, fists so tightly clenched each groove of ligament covering his knuckles could be seen with astounding quality. Wordlessly, he stormed from the room. Chairs scraped and clattered in the next room as he carelessly barged past them; the back-door bounced off the wall before being wrenched shut with such a force it the glass panels within shattered noisily onto the mat below.

Cassy remained seated. She stared at the floor intently for a moment, before she slipped from the seat and dragged a pile of books close. A minute passed in silence. Hermione watched her, Cassy could feel it. Her gaze was heavy on her shoulders as she ignored her, but it was not nearly as irritating as her hands were as they came to take the books from Cassy's own and rearrange the piles of "yes" and "no" she had been creating. Hermione moved a book and Cassy would move it back. They kept it up for several more minutes until Hermione withdrew and sat back on her heels in defeat.

Only, Cassy wished it was in defeat over the books and not defeat over her own ability to hold her tongue.

'He's upset that he may have to pick between his friends, not because he's afraid of being left behind,' said Hermione.

Deeply, Cassy scowled up at her, her head still inclined to the book in her hands.

'I know that,' she snapped.

Hermione began to sift through the pile again. 'And after Harry, you're the most important person right now, you do know that, don't you? I don't think you realise how much you impacted on support and morale for Harry in the last year.' When there was no response, she continued. 'People admire your courage. Not many people at school wanted to say it because they're a little bit scared of you, to be honest, but I heard it said quite a lot. The fact that you could just put up your hands and declare yourself out of the war and didn't means a lot to people, especially because they know how much you've put yourself in danger.'

'No, they don't,' muttered Cassy. No one besides Harry and her father knew she told him to kill her that day in the Ministry, that she genuinely would rather he had done so than entertained the idea of joining him for even a second, and that's something she will not tell anyone. Fear is natural, thought Cassy, and she had been afraid in that moment, for a while, but she was more afraid of allowing Harry's demise, in the end, than she had been of dying herself. She did not want anyone to think she expected anything more of them than they can give. She did not want anyone to think she was trying to prove anything and risk having them believe she had made it all up.

She peered around her, having squabbled silently with the book pile as she thought. Now it finally seemed sorted and they both accepted it as it was, she moved to another stack of books. They were a pile of four, each with a worn leather binding and wordless covers.

'Hermione,' said Cassy as she turned the pages of the top book thoughtfully, 'how is it you destroy a Horcrux?'

Cassy had wanted to read the books herself, but both of them knew she simply did not have the time. She was the only one who was able to move freely to gather all the items on the list as tall as it was. Gathering covertly was difficult when she lived with her father and was frequently paired with or in conference with members of the Order of the Phoenix. They were more observant than most on their worst of days and a tendril of paranoia had begun to seep into the edges of their organisation. When Dumbledore died, many members left. It was as though his death signalled the end of a war that had just begun; members took their families into hiding and denied having ever seen them before if they met on the street. Mundungus Fletcher had been the first to run. Cassy was keen to let him go. Their plans did not rely on him in any way and even if Moody had been keen to force him to keep his word and help, Cassy had argued firmly against it. He was a dead weight. Besides, she was rather sick of him stealing all of her ancestors' cutlery.

'There's a few ways: a Basilisk fang, Titan's Tears -'

'Oh good,' drawled Cassy, 'those are only two of the most difficult to obtain substances in the world.'

'Well, I don't fancy carrying around Titan's Tears anyway! I'm not having something that needs to be kept in a diamond flask rolling around in my bag,' said Hermione. 'Anyway, there's not very much listed about destroying them at all, only that to do it the vessel needs to be destroyed beyond the state of magical repair and then the soul dies too – like the opposite to a living person's soul.'

Cassy hummed. 'We are going to have to think about where to even get something destructive enough to stand a chance.'

'I've been trying to list things I know, but we're going to have to research it a bit. Do you think we have enough books?'

Surveying the piles of items around them, Cassy honestly thought they were still severely under-prepared. There were so many things they could use, things they might need in one of the thousand scenarios she had envisioned. She had gotten everything off the list the four of them drew up on the train in June. It still felt like they were missing so much. Then again, Cassy knew she would likely be the one to find it the hardest out of the four of them. She had never had anything less than a house-elf dutifully preparing meals for her whenever she wished, she had always had fluffy pillows and a warm fire to light the winter nights. It was going to be difficult.

'It's going to have to be,' she said. 'Tomorrow is a big night and after that, we are going to be kept under lock and key by Mrs Weasley.'

Hermione sighed and nodded. She peered at her watch. 'We need to get all this into the bags. We only have an hour.'

Cassy stood and stretched her legs. For a moment, she contemplated going to find Neville, who she was sure had probably found some flowers that needed tending and was calming himself by mercilessly chopping at her plants.

They packed the items with careful consideration. Neither wanted to carry more than the other. If they were compromised and unable to access both of their bags, they needed to be able to manage from the items they did have. While one tent had to be enough – graciously given to them by Mr Weasley without his wife's knowledge – they doubled up on nearly everything else. Blankets and pillows were shared between them, the food rations, books, clothes. Each knew exactly what they had, though Hermione insisted on checking her bag three times before he finally relaxed.

'I'll go and get Neville,' she said, checking her watch once more.

Cassy nodded. She remained where she sat in the armchair for several moments, fingers running lightly over the soft fabric. She rarely sat in the chair as a child. When Alphard was out of the room, she would sometimes sneak over and sit for thirty-seconds just because she had been told not to, or sometimes to see if the chair was a taste she would acquire with age: it was not. It was dipped in the centre and the back was worn from use. It was an overall uncomfortable seat, but Alphard had loved it.

She knew she needed to get rid of it. She either needed to update the house and redecorate to make it her own or she needed to sell her childhood home. Sentiment prevented her from dwelling on it too much over the last year when she had finally been in the right mental state to address the property she had reluctantly inherited. She favoured keeping it. It was a large home and in a good location. It was a distance away from Muggle streets, but close enough so that she was not totally disconnected from them. It needed new windows, after visiting Hermione she had become rather fond of double-glazing, and electricity was something to be marvelled at. She could live here again, just differently from before, if she was to make it back to the house at the end of it all.

Her focus shifted away from the unhelpful direction her thoughts were taking. They had been drifting that way for a while as she entertained every possibility in her brilliant mind, but dwelling on what may or may not be would not help her to ensure any sort of future for herself. Instead, she slung a brown satchel over her shoulder, checked the undetectable extension charm was certainly undetectable, fastened the opening securely and turned to look expectantly at the doorway.

The back door and two sets of feet sounded. Hermione slipped back into the room with a quick smile; behind her, Neville edged in with his ears tinged a bright pink.

'Sorry about earlier,' he said, his cheeks following the colour of his ears as he spoke. 'I just-'

'I understand. You don't need to apologise,' said Cassy with a small, quick smile.

Neville nodded and smiled tightly back at her. The corners of his mouth dropped and his eyebrows upturned in a muted look of desperation. 'Do you really think we need to plan for our deaths?'

Cassy stared for a moment and considered the man in front of her. Then, she nodded and said, 'Yes, I believe there is every chance someone is going to die. Given everything, I cannot believe how lucky we have been to make it this far without a fatality. It will happen to someone we know at some point.'

There was a faint sense of guilt in her stomach as she watched his eyes drop heavily to the floor. Neville was an unusually sweet soul. She remembered the first time he had reached out to her in a flood of tears, the alarm and repulsion she felt at the sight of such a fragile mess. Neville was not that boy anymore, and yet, he very much was. He always believed in the best in people, saw something in them there could be no proof of but remained so positive that everyone had the capability to be wonderful. It was not something that vanished with age and experience, it merely became tarnished by the smoke and aftermath of everything they had been through. He still saw the good in people, just no longer everyone, and he still tried to please and tried to encourage everyone around him into seeing the best in themselves too; he had merely come to accept that not everyone was capable of being as marvellous as everyone else. He believed that good would triumph over evil, the subjectivity of such a concept never crossing his mind. So, to Cassy, it seemed so wrong to stand there and push a pin of terror into that gentle optimism.

Not for the first time, Cassy wondered when she had become so soft, for had it been anyone else she would have scoffed at their naivety.

There was no outburst of quick denial. Neville merely pursed his lips and absently raised his left hand to toy with the bracelet on his right.

'We need to go or we will be late,' said Cassy decisively. With the briefest pause, she grabbed Neville and Hermione's wrists and Apparated. The swirl only lasted for a moment, no more than a second or two, before they reappeared in a large, crooked room. Thin, tall beams rose to support a tilted corrugated ceiling; between each beam was a dusty window, the lower half nearly always obscured by piles of objects, both rusted and new, broken and whole. A long table divided the room, packed with strange objects, many of which Cassy had never seen before. Above them hung light bulbs. Rows and rows of them, all hung from the beams that stretched from one side to the other with old boards of wood wedged up there to support boxes of more miscellaneous items that had been collected over many long years.

'Right on time,' a voice said from beside them.

Everyone turned, though with no real panic. A narrow green door was open and a tall man with thinning red hair stood on the top step. Behind him was a small kitchen with terracotta tiles and high cupboards with mismatched handles.

'Mr Weasley,' greeted Hermione with a wide smile.

'Whose tiara is Fleur wearing for the wedding?' he asked, his wand poking out of his pocket and not grasped in his hand.

'Mrs Weasley's Aunt Muriel's,' said Neville.

Mr Weasley beamed at them and waved them into the house as he retreated from the kitchen and into the living room. The three followed him in from the garage and added their shoes to a large mound that sat by the back door to the garden. Immediately, Cassy could see the shoes of her father, polished and designer, the sturdy and steel-capped boots of her cousin, and the tattered brown loafers of her cousin's new husband.

She peaked her head around the doorway last of the three. The house looked different from when she last visited, tidier and somewhat more sophisticated than the inconsistent furniture and handmade blankets thrown over the old sofas she had come to expect. It could still not shake the haphazard image, though, nor the warmth of a country home. It was clear that the Weasleys had done their best to reorganise themselves for the upcoming wedding, no doubt wanting to make a good impression on Fleur's parents, who Mr and Mrs Weasley had yet to meet.

Cassy managed to sidestep the crushing hug of Mrs Weasley and redirected her towards Hermione, who she had not seen in far longer. She moved then to the table and took the spare seat beside Tonks, opposite Ginny who was laughing loudly.

'Wotcha, Cassy,' greeted Tonks, her nose still scrunched into that of a dog's.

'Good evening, Tonks,' said Cassy with a single eyebrow raised.

'Ignore her,' called Sirius from a seat two down from Ginny, 'she thinks she can do an impression of me, but it's pretty dire, really.'

Cassy eyed her cousin. It certainly explained the black hair she had tied in a short ponytail.

There was a loud booming of wood against wood that made the whole room fall immediately silent. Everyone's eyes swung to stare at Alastor Moody, his walking-stick still flat on the table in front of him. He gazed at each of them in turn, his stare judgemental like an executioner stood upon the gallows, his electric-blue eye twirling and turning so much faster in search of a sign of insubordination.

'Sit,' he commanded to those who had lingered with their greetings.

Hermione quickly shuffled to share a rickety chair with Ginny and Mrs Weasley moved to sit beside her husband at the opposite head of the table to where Moody sat. Mrs Weasley frowned at her daughter.

'Ginny,' she said sharply.

'No, I want to know,' said Ginny fiercely.

All of Ginny's present brothers looked warily at their mother, waiting for her to erupt. However, she never had the chance, for Moody spoke gruffly before she could even open her mouth: 'We don't have time for this. Let the girl stay, it's better she knows what to expect if anything goes wrong.'

A furious scowl broke over Mrs Weasley's brow, but she did not argue. Her husband placed a reassuring hand on hers, but it looked as though it did little to comfort her.

'Now,' said Moody gruffly, 'the first thing I've got to ask is if anyone has any doubts about participating in this plan. Say it now.'

No one spoke.

Eighteen people sat gathered in the Weasley family's long dining table, some of which were a surprise to see. As large and broad as he had ever been, Hagrid took up a great deal of space in his centre seat. Fleur sat beside Bill, poised and attentive to Moody's demanding presence; Cassy had not expected her to participate in such a mission for Britain was not her home and Harry had been no more than a passing face in her effort to get the Weasleys to like her. She had whole-heartedly expected that Mrs Weasley would have locked Ginny away in her room to shield her from whatever they might discuss – she very well might have tried, but Ginny sat stubbornly at the table although she could not possibly participate due to her age. Fred, George, and Ron were all present too, as was Kingsley who was still dressed in his work clothes.

'We need to agree on everything tonight, finalise exactly what to expect and what to do, because tomorrow will be too late to change our minds,' continued Moody. 'How is everything holding up on your end?'

Kingsley inclined his head. 'Thicknesse's orders still stand. No one can Apparate anywhere within five miles of Harry, portkeys are still detectable, especially given the trace they leave for the Ministry to detect afterwards, and the Floo network is still being tightly monitored. He's still going on about plans to move Harry on the thirtieth, so there is hope You-Know-Who is none the wiser about the real date.'

Moody nodded at him. 'So there aren't going to be any last-minute changes in plans, then. Right, so we need to decide on who is going to be paired with who, and which one of you wants to be "it".'

'I should have Harry,' said Hagrid immediately. When all eyes turned to him, he puffed out his chest. 'I took him there when he was a baby, it's only right it's me who takes him away again. Besides, everyone's going to expect him to be with a more capable fighter, I mean, I'm no push-over, but there are more obvious choices than me.'

Slowly, Moody nodded. 'Good. I was thinking the same thing. Everyone's going to expect him to be with either Sirius or Remus, someone he knows well and has a history of fighting. You'd be the last person to expect.'

Not at all embarrassed or ashamed by any implications in Moody's words, Hagrid beamed.

'Now,' said Kingsley in a deep, contemplative voice, 'we need volunteers to be "it".'

Without hesitation, many hands rose.

* * *

 **Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it! I'm cutting it close by publishing this now, it's almost Boxing Day here in England.**

 **This is a bridge chapter. The next one is where the action begins!**

 **Hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you think.**

 **Thanks!**


	5. The flight and fight of seven Potters

C. M. Black: Bones of a Doe

 **Chapter V: The flight and fight of seven Potters**

Cassy liked to always be prepared. No one who knew her would ever say differently. Even if she appeared as though she did not have the slightest clue what was happening or what the repercussions of her actions were, she did. It was a simple fact that she liked to be prepared. Therefore, she found it entirely unwarranted that Hermione should give her such a peculiar look when she traipsed down the stairs in rolled up, baggy jeans, a blue hooded jumper with sleeves that engulfed her hands and a pile of matching clothes neatly folded in her arms.

'There is no way I am changing in front of everyone,' she declared as she placed the clothes on the sofa. 'Absolutely none.'

'You'll look like Harry, though,' said Hermione with an amused smile.

'None,' she repeated with finality. She stooped to the floor and fiddled with the hem of the jeans that drowned her legs and made her look regretfully even shorter than she already was. With a flick of her wand, the upturned hems unfolded themselves and shrivelled up until they fit at just the fight length on her leg. The width was not so bad as the length, for Harry had a thin, willowy build, so after a moment of contemplation Cassy decided she would not bother to make them any slimmer because she would hopefully not have to be in them as herself for very long at all – providing Harry did not cause a fuss, which he most certainly would.

Like the day before, her black hair was in a plaited crown around her head. It was one of the only ways she could find that disguised her shortened locks. Any other style made it plainly obvious she had chopped off her hair and she was not arrogant to think no one out there would put two and two together even if her friends had not done so yet. She could not risk anyone finding out exactly why she had got rid of her beloved hair without so much as a mention.

Upon her head, a pair of circular spectacles were perched. She was the only one who had any idea about Harry's terrible eyesight, having tried on his glasses several times over the course of the last six years. Sometimes it was out of curiosity, other times it had been because he was truly blind to anything close to his face and she liked to aggravate him by removing the only device that allowed him to see closer than thirty-foot away. Either way, Cassy was well enough acquainted with his glasses to recreate them perfectly six times, even if the prescription on them needed to be replicated once she had Harry's actual spectacles to reference. A pair was tucked into a pocket on each of the identical blue hooded jumpers she was carefully placing into a sack.

Just as she reached once more for the steaming mug of tea she had left on the sideboard to get changed, Moody limped into the lounge, his wooden foot tapping dully on the floorboards. She nodded to the cloth sack on the table as the mug was pressed to her lips.

'Everything?' he asked despite his blue-eye already whirling to check the contents of the bag. Without waiting for a reply, he threw the sack over his shoulder and shuffled out of the room. Gruffly, he commanded them to hurry, having no interest in being on time if they could be early, if only to add another layer of deception to their plan.

Both women followed him into the kitchen of Alastor Moody's home. It was one of the only places not under heavy surveillance by the Ministry of Magic, if just because it had become impossible to find it. After his abduction several years ago, Moody had moved house. The wards that had surrounded his previous home were no longer trustworthy, the neighbours were never to be trusted anyway, and the simple idea of anyone being able to locate where he might sleep was simply outrageous now a supposed dead man had locked him in a box for the better part of a year. Officially, he was homeless, which was just the way he preferred it.

The house was tiny. It had two rooms downstairs and two up, although Cassy had a suspicion Moody often slept in his lounge so no one could break in through his front door and surprise him. It served his paranoia well, being just large enough for him to store all of his war memorabilia without allowing for copious entrances and places to hide. The back garden was nothing but a field without a fence in sight, no flowers bloomed or shrubs flourished in case they offered a convenient hiding place for intruders, which was just as well because it allowed for three enormous Thestrals to roam and graze without fear of losing them.

The horse-like creatures could be seen through the wide kitchen windows. Hagrid was gently attending them, passing meat equally between three of them with one hand while his other stretched out their leathery wings to inspect the thick folds of skin. Some distance behind him stood Tonks and Remus who whispered hushed little words of comfort and heart-felt promises to one another; like them, Bill and Fleur were wrapped in each other's arms, but no words could leave their mouths for how passionately connected they were. Ron had his head turned away pointedly, while Fred and George looked as though they were scheming on how to interrupt their eldest brother best when Bill opened a single eye and shot them a knowing glare. Closest to the house stood Kingsley, Mr Weasley, and Sirius who did not exchange words but instead huddled around the gleaming black motorcycle with silent appreciation.

Sirius had offered his precious motorbike up easily. Without hesitation, he told Hagrid it would be the best mode of transportation for him and Harry to escape on, full of surprises and faster than anyone would expect. He had been tinkering with it during his spare time over the last year, its state very different from when Cassy had first seen it, but it looked the same none-the-less, unthreatening and wholly too Muggle to entrust the Boy-Who-Lived to it. With Hagrid having the motorcycle, Cassy and Sirius turned to a Thestral for their mode of transport. They were generally faster than broomsticks, at least any they had immediate access to, and they both knew they were going to need any extra speed they could get.

'How're you feeling, girls?' asked Mr Weasley, having finally spotted Cassy and Hermione lingering by the back door.

'Fine, thank-you,' said Cassy shortly and Hermione smiled at the man in response.

'Enough chit-chat!' exclaimed Moody with bone-shattering volume. 'We need to get going, so if you want to say your tearful good-byes, you should have done it earlier because we're not stopping for any man now.'

Moody grabbed a broomstick and marched down the garden.

Grey locked with Cassy's blue; Sirius nodded at her with sharp eyes so different from their usual mirthful glint. They walked side by side to a Thestral with the largest eyes and the longest wings. He flicked his tail at them yet stooped to allow Sirius to hoist Cassy onto the giant creature. With grace Cassy considered unfair after so long in Azkaban, Sirius slipped on behind her effortlessly and the Thestral began to fall in line with that of Kingsley and Hermione's and Bill and Fleur's.

Ron and Tonks were on a broomstick each, as were George and Remus, and Fred and Mr Weasley. A low roar of the motorcycle rang out behind them and like a flag had been waved at a race, everyone burst into action and shot into the air.

Clouds offered little cover in the night sky. It had been a dry July thus far and with the nights coming so late in the day because of the sunny season, they could not count on the darkness to mask them for a truly early mission. It had just become dark enough to fly, a little past ten o'clock at night, even if they were so high as to look like nothing more than a single grain of colour in an ocean of black to those below. The flight took longer than Cassy would have liked, if simply for the fact that adrenaline was starting to pump through her veins at the thought of what was to happen. She struggled not to shift restlessly as they passed over the Midlands and down the country closer to London; it was only years of practised patience that stopped her mind complaining and urging the creature forward and away from the group.

She wanted to see Harry. Part of her loathed how it was not the two of them out in the skies and against all odds. The idea of being separated, of not knowing if he was safe and unhurt until the Portkey flashed into the Weasley's garden drove her half to madness. She was always with Harry when something went awry, that was simply how it was and on the rare occasions they had been separate over the years, something had always gone badly wrong.

Though in reality, it had taken a mere hour to get from one end of England to the other everyone gave a collected, thankful sigh of relief when the rows and rows of identical houses belonging to Little Whinging came into view beneath them. When Moody lifted his hand and descended beneath the clouds, they all followed suit. Soon enough, the group were low over the houses, almost close enough to scrape the red tiles from the perfect roofs. Several lights were lit, but no one seemed to notice the roar of the engine as they swooped further still and landed on the carefully mowed lawn at the back of one particularly well-cared for home. A single light was on within the dwelling.

One by one they climbed down from their transportation. Cassy was already half-way to the back door when it wrenched open with a noisy rattle of its plastic frame. There, stood tall with dishevelled black hair and wand in hand, was Harry. It took him three steps to close the remaining distance, wrap his arms tightly around Cassy's small waist and hoist her high into the air in a spin. Immediately, she flung her arms around his neck and could not stop the huff of laughter escaping her throat. When he set her down again, he raised his eyebrows as he looked her up and down but she waved it off with a quick flip of her hand.

Although not deterred at all by her dismissal, Harry could not ask further for Hermione tackled him and dragged him down to her height in a crushing embrace. Next was Sirius, who levelled Harry with playfully narrowed eyes once he had stepped back from his own hug.

'You're taller than me,' he said.

Blinking, Harry held his hand flat over his head and moved it across to the top of Sirius'. He grinned. 'So I am, by about a centimetre.'

Sirius puffed out his cheeks sulkily. 'You still have years to grow.'

'Can we get on with it!' shouted Moody and shoved passed the gaggle in the doorway to enter the house.

Harry turned and followed quickly. 'I didn't think there would be so many of you.'

'Change of plans,' said Moody, leaning against the sparkling oven with his arms crossed over his chest.

Everyone filed into the room with large smiles and excited greetings. Several took up residence around the dining table, while others sat upon the marble work-surfaces. Harry beamed at Remus and Tonks, who in turn showed off her diamond ring with a toothy smile. Mr Weasley gave Harry a one-armed hug as he passed and Fleur gave him a wink, her arm encircling Bill's. Cassy stood beside Harry against a row of cupboards closest to the back door. She, like Moody, folded her arms in anticipation for what was about to come.

'We can't move you like we planned because Thickesse has set up all sorts of charms around the house. Even the slightest bit of magic will registrar with the Ministry and alert any Death Eaters that we're here. They'll be swarming the sky before we would even have a chance. We can't Apparate in and out of the area with it recording who we are and we can't use the Floo because it's been banned from being connected. Thickesse says it's for your own protection, but all he's done is trap us,' said Moody before anyone could launch into any unrelated conversation.

'We've laid a false trail with the Ministry that you will be moved on the thirtieth, just before the protection breaks around the house,' continued Kingsley in his deep, calm voice. 'Hopefully, if Thickesse is working for You-Know-Who like we believe he is, we will be able to have the upper hand, at least for a little while tonight.'

'We can't rely on him simply getting the date wrong,' continued Moody gruffly, 'there will be people patrolling the skies no doubt. We'll only have a few minutes between exiting the protection and being swarmed. Obviously, we've had to set up false trails all over the country to stop them knowing exactly where we're taking you. Over a dozen houses have been set up with every protection we can possibly give them.'

He nodded to Sirius and Cassy, who had been put in charge of all things ward related, if just for the historical family strength in it.

'You're going to be going to my parents' house,' said Tonks cheerfully. 'They're all ready for you to take a Portkey from there to The Burrow.'

'Right,' said Harry slowly. 'So, I get that they won't know which house I'm heading to first off, but it's going to be glaringly obvious after a point.'

He looked down at Cassy as if silently questioning how she could possibly have allowed a plan to be formed with such a gaping hole in the centre of it. In turn, she peered at him from the corner of her eye and smirked. He frowned.

'Ah,' said Moody as he reached into a deep inner coat pocket, 'I forgot the most important part of the plan: there will be seven Potter's flying tonight and each to a different location.'

Cassy felt Harry stiffen beside her. When the flask emerged from the tattered brown coat, Harry had already stepped forward and bellowed out a sharp 'no!'.

'I'm not about to let six people risk themselves for me - '

'I said he'd take it well,' said Hermione lightly.

'Pretending to be me will make you a target - '

'That's not what we're worried about!' exclaimed George.

'We're worried about being stuck as a scrawny git forever!' said Fred.

Harry narrowed his eyes dangerously and rounded on them with clenched fists. 'It's not funny!'

'Who's laughing?' said George.

'I'm not – ow! Cassy, what the hell?' Before Harry had a chance to finish his heated denial of everything they had worked hard to prepare, Cassy had stepped forwards and yanked several strands of hair from the back of his head. The moment he spotted the dark strands clenched in her pale fist, he darted forward to snatch them away, but she dodged to the side and closer to Moody. He uncorked the flask and she dropped the hair in before Harry had a chance to protest again.

He growl fell silent when a heavy hand came to rest on his shoulder.

'Harry,' said Sirius placidly, 'I know you hate the idea of anyone getting hurt for you, but this is the only way we can move you and have even the barest of chances of you surviving. They are out there waiting for you and if we can at least get you to safety then we still stand a chance. Without you, everything will be lost before we can really even begin. Everyone here is an adult. We have all agreed to the risks.'

At his Godfather's words, Harry deflated. In turn, he gazed at each of them, offering an extra little glare for Cassy who stared back unashamedly. His eyes finally came to rest on the flask in Moody's hand, the liquid, thick and brown like wet autumn mud, had vanished and given way to a bright, shimmering gold. Heavily, Harry sighed.

'Decoys, line up,' called Moody.

Cassy stepped into the centre of the kitchen and beside her were Hermione, Ron, Fred, George, and Fleur. A tiny glass was handed to them in turn, each full of the golden liquid. Swiftly, the Polyjuice Potion was downed in a single gulp. The effect was immediate. Heat spread like wildfire through her veins; from the tips of her fingers down to her toes, she felt a prickling, a dull burning and an ache where her limbs suddenly elongated and features shifted. The most obvious change was not her sudden height like she had expected because Cassy could not see it. Harry's eyesight was appalling.

She plucked the pair of spectacles from her pocket and perched them on her nose, blinking as her eyes finally seemed to focus properly.

'So, that explains the clothes,' muttered Harry, squinting as he gave her the once over.

'So conceited, Harry, dating someone who looks like you,' said Cassy.

'Well, there's not much not to love, is there?' he retorted.

Cassy snorted.

'We're identical!' came the twin cries of Fred and George.

'Well done,' said Ron. 'We're all bloody identical.' He grabbed a pair of jeans from the sack Moody had dropped on the floor. He pointed for Harry to change as well.

'Oy,' said Harry, but no one batted an eyelid at him and continued to undress with an ease they would surely not have had if they had had to display their own bodies under the scrutiny of so many others. Cassy watched them change for a moment before she felt a pair of eyes burning into the side of her skull. Harry was frowning at her.

'Oh, don't worry, there may be many options now but you are still the only Harry for me,' she said wryly.

Harry pinched his nose. 'No, that's not – I meant – this is so weird.'

'So Ginny was lying about that tattoo!' said Ron.

'What tattoo?' asked Harry.

'The Hungarian Horntail tattoo she said Cassy said you had,' said Ron.

'I wish,' muttered Cassy with folded arms.

'What?' Harry turned with raised eyebrows.

'Nothing,' she said dismissively. 'Anyway, I never told Ginny that, so she's just been winding you up.'

'I knew it,' he grumbled and pulled the red t-shirt over his head.

'You like tattoos?' whispered Harry in her ear.

Cassy refused to answer.

When everyone was dressed and had collected a rucksack each from Moody and a cage with a stuffed owl inside it, Moody gave them a quick look over.

'Right, so everyone knows their pairs. Potter, you're with Hagrid, Snape will've told You-Know-Who all about your flying abilities by now. I'll be going with Kingsley and Miss Granger, we'll lure most of the Death Eaters in the opposite direction with any luck.'

'Wait, what?' questioned Harry quickly.

Moody's non-magical eye swung towards him. 'They'll expect you to be with the Aurors, so if Kingsley and I are together then it gives us a chance to lead them in the entirely opposite direction of you.'

'But Hermione - '

'It's fine, Harry,' said one Potter across the kitchen in a soft voice Harry never normally used. 'I've chosen to do this, in fact, it was my idea.'

There had been protests from Ron when Hermione had voiced the idea she could act as bait. Cassy saw the logic in it, but it did not stop her from trying to talk her friend out of it with simple reasoning – if there were already seven Harrys, there would be no need to go as extreme as to create one more suspicious than the others. She refused to acknowledge it; Moody was not going to remain on the ground whether he had a partner or not, so whoever he chose to support when they divided would surely get closer attention anyway, she reasoned it was better to expect the extra attention.

Harry grit his teeth. Moody allowed no room for further protest. He ushered them into the garden, pocket-watch in hand. Muttering to himself, he urged them onto their transport and took a seat on his own broomstick. A clear pathway had been left for the motorcycle to gain speed and height and everyone else surrounded it; the six decoy Potters were all with their assigned partner, wands out and nerves steeled. Cassy cast Harry one last glance and he stared back at her from the sidecar without a word.

'Alright, everyone, good luck and I'll see you at The Burrow in one hour. Ready? Go!' called Moody.

With a small lurch, the Thestral spread its impressive wings and leapt into the air. A rush of wind surrounded Cassy, casting chills down her arms where the hooded jumper was no longer thick enough to ward away the summer chill. Harry was ahead of her, his head turned to peer over the edge of the sidecar as the houses below became indistinguishable smudges beneath their feet. The wind picked up and he turned back to Hagrid who had a pair of large goggles pulled over his little eyes. Hermione held her wand with a visible stiffness; Ron was looking at her, his lips pulled into a thin line and his brow crumpled with worry, and, as always, Hermione failed to see it.

For a moment, it was peaceful as the group divided into seven tiny clusters suddenly, each with a different location and the same goal. For a moment, everything was peaceful as the clouds thinned and revealed a splattering of stars mirrored by the streetlights on the ground so far below. Everything was peaceful. Everything was peaceful until a crackle of lightning sent the Thestral careering to the side and a howl of a wordless shout had both Blacks reeling for a view of an invisible enemy.

The sky was too dark. For a second, there was nothing but faint pops almost lost in the rush air around them. Then, a dark figure rushed into view, broomstick in his hands. Another joined them, and a third flew behind with rapid fire spells Sirius was scrambling to deflect. Cassy dropped the fake rucksack immediately. She was tempted to drop the cage too, for it was only taking up valuable room she needed to manoeuvre, but she knew the Death Eaters would sense the deception immediately. Taking the split second decision to keep a hold of the useless cage, she turned where she sat and fired six curses at the two closest, grazing the first man and splitting the end of the broomstick of the second.

A loud screech came from the man behind as he plummeted out of the air.

The Thestral swerved again, sending the two slipping to the side and nearly off its back. Cassy gripped its neck with the cage wedge between it and her chest. Another spell burst from her wand and collided with another with a resounding rumble and rush of colour. Blaring blue boomed overhead, stopped by a screeching spell from Sirius.

The Thestral veered once more and the two remaining Death Eaters shot passed as it reared and slowed suddenly. It ducked beneath the wispy, white clouds.

'Are you alright?' called Sirius, trying to pull Cassy into a more upright position. 'Are you hurt?'

'I'm fine,' she replied after a moment, her eyes still trained on the sky above them even if she was doubled over. She eased back a fraction, carefully to keep the cage positioned in her lap. 'Are you?'

There was a second where Sirius did not reply. Cassy was about to turn in question when he muttered an agreement that he was unhurt; his attention, now he knew his daughter was uninjured, was also fixated on the darkness above them. They watched for a while before their eyes both began to scan the horizon near and far for any sightings. It made little sense that the Death Eaters were so easy to lose, unless something else had pulled their attention at the last moment.

Quickly, Cassy tugged up the blue sleeve and glanced down at her watch. They had been flying for only fifteen minutes and they were not expected to reach their designated safe house for another ten even with the impressive speed the Thestral lent them.

Cassy flexed her fists - tight then loose, tight then loose - as she tried to settle her burning adrenaline. With the passing minutes of silence, only the hushed rush of wind in their ears, her adrenaline was becoming paranoia. She could feel Sirius shift behind her. His own nerves were beginning to grate on his patience, what little of it he seemed to have. He was searching the skies above and below, his wand turning as and where his eyes did. Again, he shifted.

She thought of Harry, hoping he was hidden with Hagrid, of Hermione who was to take the heat of the attack so bravely, of Ron and Tonks who were battling together, of Fred and Remus, of George and Mr Weasley. If they suspected that she could not be Harry, despite travelling with his Godfather of all people, then something had gone very, very wrong.

'There!' bellowed Cassy and a wordless spell ripped from her wand. The single figure slipped from their broomstick immediately and plummeted much like the first, only to be replaced by a second and a third. As a shield flew up in front of them, Cassy's eyes darted over her opposite shoulder and another shield was thrown up without a second thought. A crash of scarlet split and cracked the opalescent wall around them. A second spell, this one by the fourth hunter on their trail, shattered the shield but dissipated before it had a chance to connect.

In silent agreement, Cassy took the left and Sirius took the right.

A low thrum was the only warning Cassy had to move as a spell as dark as the deepest crevices of the Forbidden Forest pierced the air. A spluttering rush of air left her lungs, the cage thrown from her arms and down to the earth below. The pain was immediate, the flesh beneath her hand so warm compared to the cool air around them. She could not tell if her skin was now slick with blood or if it was nothing more than a long graze across her lower ribs, and she did not have the time to discern it either. Her attention quickly turned from the woman who had caught her, having made short work of the Witch in sharp retaliation, and instead shifted to a man who hung back on his broomstick, with long blond hair peeking from beneath his silver mask.

Suddenly, her care was drawn away from Lucius and instead to a plume of black smoke darting and ducking between the trailing Death Eaters. Then slowly, like a firefighter emerging from a burning house, the smoke gave way to a pale, wispy form. A pair of red eyes formed first and was followed by white skin and a flat nose with only slits for nostrils. Voldemort had finally caught up with them.

She raised her wand and he did the same, but neither had the chance to act because before Cassy could register what had happened, she was falling. The Thestral hurled towards the ground with its lifeless eyes rolled back into its leather lined skull, its wings limp and its side blown out like its thick skin was thin glass, heated then cooled to burst.

Cassy was uncertain if one of the shouts was her own, her voice too different to recognise in that moment, or if one was her father's as he realised the pair of them were falling freely with Death Eaters above them and solid ground below. For a second, she entertained the thought that the Death Eaters were screeching at one another in vulgar curses and panicked shouts for they had just pushed someone who was very likely Harry Potter from the air and towards their death. However, the satisfaction she took in their fear of what repercussions Voldemort might hand them was only a fleeting feeling in comparison to the bubbling panic, fear, and anguish she faced as she fell almost blindly from the shire force of air upon her.

* * *

 **Happy New Year! This is my little present for you all.**

 **The action has finally begun, so let's see where the next few chapters take us, ay?**

 **Hope you like it.**

 **Thanks!**


	6. Cursed to lose

C. M. Black: Bones of a Doe

 **Chapter VI: Cursed to lose**

Dirt shot into the air. It rained down noisily against the side of the shed, painted and chipping, that sat at the back of a short, angular garden amongst rows of half-heartedly tended flowerbeds. The crumpled marigolds folded at their base towards a little house with square windows and a narrow alleyway to the street down the side of it. No lights were on inside, though the house two doors down had a bright yellow glow from one of the upstairs rooms with misted glass and a thin stream of steam trickling from the open window. No one appeared at the window. No one peered down from the safety of their bedrooms to seek out the source of the dull but tremendously loud thud that rattled the walls of the tiny village.

Short puffs of air left Cassy's mouth, her chest rose and fell in a shuddering, forced pattern. With each inhale, she burnt. It centred in her abdomen and spread to her shoulders and knees, down to her elbows and her ankles. She had not been able to halt her fall entirely. Whilst some spells could force her to a full stop, she had decided quickly she would rather not jerk her limbs and snap her neck and while that left her several options to slow her descent, it was rather difficult to cycle through them all when falling almost blindly hundreds of feet in the air. She had not had time to calculate her probable speed of fall nor the time it would take to hit the ground given an estimation of distance based on the peripheral sight of the earth from her memory of the fight moments ago. She had no choice but to apply buffers, little spells that might slow her and cushion the fall enough to survive without serious injury.

She had succeeded, as far as her initial assessment could tell when she had yet to move from the spot she had finally rolled to. A hand was clamped over the wound on her lower ribs. With a shaky breath, she pulled her palm away and slowly brought it up to her face. Red. Her hand was completely coated in bright crimson, its particular shade still so vibrant in the low light of the neighbour's window. Exhaling, she squashed her hand down on the wound again.

Her head was unhurt, having rolled to raise her arms to protect it; her neck was slightly jarred but nothing more than a pulled muscle; her back was fine, just grazed from sliding across the lawn and over mature flowerbeds; her arms ached and her legs were likely bruised, but overall she re-evaluated herself to be in good health.

At least I will be if I can seal this wound, she thought and heaved herself upright with a strangled grunt. Carefully, she breathed in and out, taking note of the way the motion pulled at her torn skin and sent prickles of pain in all directions.

With her hand reluctantly withdrawn from her side, she finally inspected the damage. A long strip of fabric was missing from the t-shirt, the edges were slick between her fingers as her thumb and middle finger pushed apart the material; her index finger gingerly trailed along the edge of the torn flesh from the edge of her stomach, no more than two inches below the pectoral muscle, and stretched across to the front, widening in the centre before thinning as it reached the soft flesh of the centre of her ribcage. It was fortunate it was not an inch lower or it would have missed the sturdy bone beneath the skin and instead sliced straight into her stomach.

Hissing, she pinched the skin together and rose her wand to the wound. A bead of blood slipped from the other end and Cassy barely noticed as it mingled with what was already smeared across her tender skin. She could not stop herself mumbling the incantation when she slowly dragged the wand above the split skin. For a brief moment, she cursed herself for not having thought to numb the area before her skin and muscle began to knit itself back together excruciatingly slowly. With teeth ground, she continued. There was no finesse to the stitching. It was sealed in mottled lines of pink and white. It was pressed to about a Knut's width and the length a grand six inches.

Think, Cassiopeia, she commanded herself. What do I need to do now?

It was a challenge to force her legs to bend when her grazed knees stung from the dirt and her aching limbs shrieking with her full weight upon her feet. It was even more difficult to coordinate Harry's lanky form when she had to consciously move each body part as it creaked in protest. A faint spell washed over her, calming her screaming nerves but the thrum inside her head refused to halt entirely, her body too aware of its weaknesses to allow false security in comfort. A second buzzing lay low in her brain; she needed to find Sirius.

He could not have fallen more than a few blocks away from where she landed. While high enough in the sky that she rather not plummet from it ever again, it was, in fact, not all that high. They were naturally obscured by the disillusionment charm they covered themselves with, although the Death Eaters had seen through the weak enchantment easily, and were so far up that even if the Thestral had been visible to humans, it would have looked like nothing more than a large bird soaring beneath the wispy clouds. So, it was unlikely Sirius had fallen too far from her.

She had no idea where she was. It had never come to be that she had felt compelled to learn every village in Great Britain, though she rather regretted not doing so. The village was tiny, nothing much to note in the way of grand landmarks or structures of any kind. There was no crackle of magic in the air that surrounded Hogsmeade and no plumes of colourful, fragrant smoke billowed from the chimney stacks. A post box sat at the end of the winding road, a butcher's shop opposite that with a dozen or so crooked little houses either side. The adjacent street was much the same and the one after that altered only with the addition of a grassy bank and a change of stone from yellow to red. Everything was perfectly ordinary and whether that was a blessing or a curse, Cassy could not decide.

It was decided for her. It was a curse.

Glaring yellow flashed in the corner of her eye. She deflected it easily, brushing it off with a flick of her wand and then another and another. There was not one person wielding a wand in front of her, but four, one for every Death Eater who had been with her in the sky. Though their masks were identical and their clothes plain and dark, she knew Lucius and Anton Dolohov still stood amongst them.

She twirled her wand and shifted her weight. The four stood at the opposite end of the street and no one moved until, suddenly, someone did and everyone burst into action with shouts and shots of brightly coloured spells. Cassy twisted and turned, dodging as much as she shielded herself. She did not retaliate, despite the growing screams of cowardice and shame that rang through the dark Muggle street. Her eyes fluttered to each of them, to their hands, their feet, the way their weight changed feet with each manoeuvre and took note of every spell used and every opportunity missed.

Bellatrix had taught her much. Their duel merely one year earlier had been a disaster, but Cassy was a whole year older now, an adult, a Lady, a fighter. She had not lulled in her studies. Not having a boyfriend or even constructing a controversial network had slowed her down. She knew what had gone wrong for her in the Department of Mysteries, she had spent hours analysing and replaying the fight over and over again until she was content she knew every error, every weakness, and every strength she had shown that night.

The female Death Eater crumpled to the floor, her kneecaps broken and her wand flung into a neighbours garden. She needed to move her feet more. They were an easy target.

The next to crash to the ground did so with such force his silver mask slipped and clattered across the tarmac. His face was young, not unhandsome with bright eyes and dark hair, and that face was forever to be burnt into Cassy's mind's eye, even the look of horror as he scrambled to hide himself again. He had stood straight on, his weight distribution too poor to timely avoid any counter-attacks she spat at him.

Whilst he fumbled to replace his mask, only Lucius and Dolohov stood in her way. A shield blocked Dolohov's attack and it was at that moment a slow, reluctant movement caught Cassy's eye. Lucius had lowered his wand.

'It's not - ' He suddenly cut himself short.

A tremendous chill shot through Cassy's skin, pricking down to her very bone like needles through her flesh. Black smoke rose from the warm road and was met with a whirling plume from above. The figure was only distorted for a second, but she knew who it was all the same. Voldemort had descended after them.

'What luck,' she muttered under her breath.

His hood was down to reveal his pale, snake-like face. Red-eyes stared unyieldingly at her, a grim smile pulling at his colourless lips. Lazily, he waved to the four behind him.

'Find Black,' he ordered with a voice just tinged with unnatural amusement.

Cassy ground her teeth.

The men behind him scrambled away, even Lucius, who turned and spared her a final glance beneath the mask. Then, they were gone in sharp pops. The woman staggered to her feet, unsteady and without a wand. It was only through the hunch of her shoulders and the shallowness of her breath that Cassy knew she was panicked by Voldemort's presence. She shuffled away, not daring to look over her shoulder to see her Lord's burning gaze.

Voldemort spread his arms wide at his sides, hi attention returning to the figure in front of him. 'You flinched when I mentioned Sirius Black. So, are you Harry Potter?'

'What a stupid question,' drawled Cassy. How could he expect anyone to actually answer that?

'It doesn't matter,' he said tonelessly, smile gone and open arms tucked tightly at his sides. ' _Avada Kadavra_!'

The green spell was met with a lightning white one. The windows of the street rattled, the occupants undeniably awake from the flashing and yelling, but Cassy could not spare more than a split second thought to the fact she had broken the secrecy law. The peaking, worried faces that eyed them from curtains cracked open and blaring car alarms were only flashes of the greater picture she created as she fought. Voldemort had no obvious weaknesses. She could not kill him, the prophecy stated as much, and even if fate had not bestowed such a burden on Harry, he would come back one day in the future and the entire process of the last seven years would begin again.

That did not stop her trying, though.

White hot pain ripped through her leg. Numbed, she ignored it. A brief moment between Voldemort's attacks offered her a second to still the bleeding with a tight bandage that spurted from the end of her wand.

He threw away her spells like batting away the flailing arms of an infant. Her spells had not been kindly to begin with, but by the time the fence behind her was on fire and the ground beneath the two shook, she had released a series of very dark, very illegal spells.

'Cassiopeia Black,' said Voldemort, a sly smile upon his face. 'What a pleasure it is to see you again.'

Cassy said nothing, not even as a black, shapeless mass rose from behind him with burning tendrils that splintered upon touching his skin with protection she had never seen before. The creature slunk back to her, reforming with a low hiss and constant thrum of magic penetrating the air around them. With a high shriek, red and yellow pierced through its body until it was nothing more than smouldering ash that the summer breeze effortlessly swept away. For a moment, her gaze remained on the remnants of the semi-sentient magic she had given life to, then she turned her attention back to Voldemort, who had not moved more than a step closer to her.

The ends of his robe were tattered on one side, scorched from the mass' touch. His bald head had a streak of red from his crown to the centre of his right eyebrow, not bloody but burnt, blistering, and branded with overconfidence and underestimation. His skeleton fingers rose up to touch the marred skin gingerly, his red eyes locked only on her.

The confidence that soared through Cassy's entire being was difficult to control. Her heart gave a leap in triumph and the knots in her nerves untied themselves as her vigilance had resulted in something so tangible it was undeniable: she had injured The Dark Lord. Her mind, however, did not follow the same celebrations her body did. It remained focused and intent on remaining very much alive, because right then and there, she knew she had just reduced her chances of walking away from the fight by an unmeasurable amount.

 _'Avada Kadavra!'_

The light soared over her head as she threw herself into a low crouch. Before she could retaliate, standing tall with her feet ready to leap away again, he was gone. Only a glimpse of his widening eyes and the sharp turn of her head told her he would not be back.

'Harry,' she breathed. It had to be because of Harry.

Her slate-blue eyes roved the narrow street, but she could no longer see glimmers of the pale faces of horrified spectators. A quick flick of her wand silenced the car alarms and the stones of the upturned street quickly scrambled to affix themselves back into their rightful positions. The street looked as good as it had before, like nothing had ever happened; even if the Muggles did whittle about what they had seen, there was no evidence. No one would believe them.

Cassy realised as she sprinted down another narrow street that the faint tingling in her fingers and feet was not an alarming health symptom, but rather because the Polyjuice Potion was beginning to fade. She stumbled into a bin as her legs suddenly shot down to normal length and nearly hit the side of a bus stop when her vision suddenly clouded as her sight returned. The change of shape only served to exacerbate and remind her of the ache of her strained muscles.

With her lungs demanding air, she was forced to stop against the bus shelter. Doubled over, both panting and in pain, she kept her head inclined up to scour the street for life.

There was nothing to see and nothing to find. She had been down almost all of the centre streets, seen all of the few businesses the village ran, and had even found the Community Centre twice. It was only when she had composed herself again and trudged further up that very road that she finally spotted something amiss.

A broken fence panel did not seem unusual in a village surrounded by farmland, yet the posts on either side were new and solid, not at all worn enough to break under their own weight. Wire had been ripped from atop the wood, barely visible in the darkness further up the way with loose tufts of animal hair caught in its sharp barbs. Within the field, a streak of mud had been overturned. There was no crater or trails of blood. There was nothing to suggest Sirius had ever been there, though Cassy had the unyieldingly feeling he had. The grass was disturbed, flattened in odd places from heavy footfalls. The grass, dry from the summer sun, was easily crumpled, her own tracks told her that, but unless the occupant had trampled around in many circles then there had been more than one person there recently.

Then, as she circled the peculiar grass, she noticed something even stranger and her heart dropped deep into her stomach. A cold flush washed over her, her eyes unable to move any longer. Slowly, she stooped to her knees and delicately plucked a long, thin object from where it had been half-buried in earth.

'Dad!' shouted Cassy. 'Dad!'

His wand was clutched tightly in her hand, her own wand raised for whoever might answer her call. No one did. No one came.

She ran her muddied hand through her hair and only then remembered to tug up the fallen hood again. The weight of her father's wand in her pocket was more immense than any pressure she had felt in many years. It was heavier than any burden she might have imagined. Her eyes stung, though she loathed to admit it, and a panic had set deep in her heart. Her father was not there. He was gone and he had gone without his wand.

She squashed the feelings down.

She loathed to leave yet her feet moved back towards the road and onwards in a new direction. A tiredness had set deep within her bones and with each step it was becoming harder to ignore. The walk seemed painfully long, though in reality, she knew she could not have been walking long at all. It was only down a winding street, one that was much wider with freshly painted lines in the centre of the road, that she came to a halt by a large board stuck upon two metal poles.

With her eyes closed, a large whirl of white spouted from the wand she squeezed in her tired hands. It flowed and flickered before it swirled to form a giant dog with a bushy, curled tail and a broad build. The dog stared at her expectantly, tail wagging side to side like a metronome.

'The Thestral's dead. Dad is missing,' Cassy paused and cracked her eyes open; the road sign in front of her had three big arrows on it. 'I am in a village somewhere between Edinburgh to the North, Earlston to the West, and Kelso to the South. I cannot Apparate.'

She wondered if they would be able to hear the strain in her voice.

The Patronus did not wait for further instructions. It vanished in a plume of white smoke and Cassy just hoped Tonks or Remus were there to hear it. Although she wanted nothing more than to continue searching for her father, she knew she could not. Her side was raging with pain, her knees weak and arms heavy as the initial adrenaline that surged through her veins like water from a pump now dwindled to a thin trickle, just able to keep her walking. She pushed off from the wall and began to slowly make her way back the way she came.

After a few minutes of a slow meander, she came to a stop outside what appeared to have been an old church now re-purposed with black cast-iron gates and simple arched windows. She had passed the building earlier and had keenly taken note of the alley down the side between the church and a house. It was unlit and narrow and, as far as she could tell, it led absolutely nowhere, which was perfect for her to slump down in and wait for assistance. It was also great for giving her location with as little description as possible if – when, she corrected herself – someone contacted her.

Cold bled through Cassy's jeans from the pavement beneath her; her sore body welcomed the change. She stretched her legs out in front of her, confident in her ability to hide her presence if anyone was to pass with a simple spell. She closed her eyes for a moment, her head drumming, but then all she saw were mangled images of upturned grass and broken limbs; eyes bulged from their sockets; pale skin was sallow and drawn, so freshly dead and yet so lifeless. She kept them open from then on.

With eyes pinned on the stars above, Cassy tried to squash the bubbling feeling in her stomach and the nervous jitter of her heart. Sirius was missing, he was gone, gone, gone, and Cassy had been right with him until suddenly she was not. Had he been hit when the Thestral exploded? Was he somewhere in the village unable to get up and she had just missed him? Had he been captured? Or was he already dead?

Her fingers dug into her heavy eyes.

She carefully bent forward and pulled the rough fabric of her jeans up to her knee. The skin around the bandages was mottled with white blisters, some weeping over the hot, pink flesh. Pinching the wrap, she peeked beneath. Larger, more bulbous blisters glistened in the light of the Lumos. Some of the discoloured skin was upturned and peeling, but overall the damage looked to be minimal. If she had not shielded from the tail of wire Voldemort's wand had spat, she knew there would be very little left of her leg if the liquefied tarmac had been anything to judge by.

'Cassy,' said a voice.

She jumped, her eyes now wide and wand outstretched. A large figure stood at the end of the alley. Long legs spread into wide claws that supported a narrow but imposing frame, large ears pointed straight up and narrowed eyes fixed intently on her slouched form. She lowered her wand and smiled in relief.

'Stay where you are,' came the familiar voice of Tonks through the stoic wolf's closed muzzle. 'We will find you. Hang tight.'

It said nothing more and in no more than a few seconds, Cassy was alone again.

If asked, she would be unable to say at what time she closed her eyes. She fought to keep them open, but her energy was gone and if the Death Eaters had not descended upon her already she knew it was unlikely they ever would. She would be equally unable to say what startled her awake and set her heart thumping like the hooves of wild horses. However, it was nothing compared to the bone-cracking jolt of surprise she gave when her eyes opened to find a pair of eyes only inches from her face. The first thought that flicked through her mind was fear someone had stumbled upon her prone form and it was quickly followed by the realisation that humans do not have circular eyes, nor great tufts of hair on either cheek or ear-hair that stood stubbornly straight like flowers growing towards the sky. After a second of staring, she blinked and edged her head away from the white creature.

'Kingsley,' she breathed, her addled brain finally recognising the Lynx Patronus.

It stepped back and slunk out of the alley, taking with it its faint light.

Cassy reached up to rub her eyes and sighed to herself. The sky was turning a light grey and the moon was dimmer than before. Heavier clouds hung above now, though the sky was still unfavourably clear. As she eyed the plain above in attempt to tell the time, her hand idly moved to feel her moonlight skin that was so heavily crusted with old blood. The t-shirt had become stuck to her skin, still damp but almost dried and hardening. The sealed injury was puckered and she dreaded to consider the unsightly scar it would unquestionably leave behind.

'Cassy!' cried a voice.

Cassy smiled to herself. 'Tonks.'

She rolled her head towards her cousin, who despite her pale hair and wide eyes, had her wand pointed straight at her. Tonks' eyes flickered up and down Cassy's body. She pretended not to notice how they lingered on the deep stain. Behind her stood Kingsley, looking as regal as always in the same deep blue robes she had seen him in last. His face was calm and composed, though he too spared her person a glance with tense eyes.

'What was the first takeaway Cassy ever tried?'

She could have laughed, but she did not even have the motivation to smile - Sirius was still gone. She put her wand in her pocket, content that she had never told a soul she had tried Muggle Chinese food for anyone else to know. When the response spilt from her lips, Tonks dove on her knees by her side, her hands already patting and prodding her in places Cassy did not see how Tonks could possibly know hurt.

'Shit, Cassy, is that blood?' asked Tonks. Her hands were already pulling Cassy's flat palm from her side before she had even finished her sentence. 'Did you heal this yourself?'

'I'm awful at it,' she said instead of answering.

'That's a hell of a cut, no wonder you look like death!' squawked Tonks. 'I'm impressed it's healed at all, that looks like it was a nasty spell... _Noctdium_ , maybe?' She looked over to Kingsley, who had stooped to crouch at Cassy's other side.

'It was black,' said Cassy.

' _Noctdium_ ,' said Kingsley in agreement. 'It splits the flesh open down to the bone. Luckily, you're so thin and it happened to hit you somewhere you don't have a lot of flesh to part. If it had got you in the leg then, well, we wouldn't be having this conversation.'

Cassy gazed at him with half-lidded eyes, too tired to properly scowl to convey just how unhelpful the two were being. They both seemed to understand her silent message, however, for Kingsley stood and Tonks reached for Cassy's arm.

'Right, I'm going to help you stand,' she announced and Cassy tugged her arm away quickly.

'I can stand by myself,' she protested, but Tonks merely grabbed her right arm again and nestle her shoulder into Cassy's side.

'I'd like to see you stand with as little further injury to yourself as possible,' she snorted. 'So, one, two, three...'

Even biting hard on her lip could not full muffle the grunt of pain that left her lips at standing. Sitting for the last few hours had caused her battered muscles to seize and tighten; every ounce of her body ached but beyond the bubbling sick it caused in her throat, there was nothing to stop her walking by herself. Tonks had other plans.

'I'm going to take you to get yourself looked at, I'll send word to the others when we get there, let them know you're safe,' she said.

Cassy remained stubbornly still even as her cousin tried to move her forward.

There was a brief pause before Kingsley shook his head. 'I'm sorry, Cassy. We're not giving up, though. We'll search every inch of this village for Sirius.'

Without moving an inch, she stared. It was like she was conveying a thousand words and yet nothing at all. Her slate blue eyes held his deep brown ones for several beats before she nodded as though agreeing to a simple statement. Looking at Tonks, her face remained impassive and the older woman did her best not to openly wince at the cool and controlled face of her cousin. Cassy's tiredness seemed to drop from her features and she stood a fraction taller; her brow was not furrowed nor did her eyes shine with worry – there was simply nothing but indifference in her countenance and that worried Tonks immensely.

'I assume we are Apparating?' said Cassy casually.

Tonks drew her lips into a thin line and caught Kinsley's eye. 'Yeah, it's going to hurt. Don't be surprised if you feel like death on the other side, you shouldn't do it when wounded, but we don't have a lot of choices.'

Cassy waved her free hand dismissively. 'I have done so before and the worst it did was render me unconscious. I will be fine.' It would have been easier to avert her gaze and pretend she could not see the probing edge to Tonks' gaze, yet she held strong and stared the other in the eye with false innocence that visibly set the other's teeth on edge.

'Cassy-'

'Tonks,' interrupted Cassy, her eyebrows high and expression pointed, 'I would really appreciate being able to sit down and maybe have a bath right now.'

'Go,' said Kingsley to them both. 'Take care of Cassy and when you can, return here to help us, alright?'

They must have thought her oblivious, Cassy thought with an internal scoff and a hardening of her eyes. She was not so tired as to miss the shared looks and silent conversation the two had in that moment before the world began to spin in such an unpleasant way it had not done so since she was a child. She knew Kingsley was wary. She knew Tonks could sense what was likely to come, that she knew the reality of what it meant if they could not find Sirius. Cassy was not blind to it. All she needed right then, as a small living room spun into view, was to wash away the blood and dirt, a chance to sleep, and to see Harry. Though, those things seemed to be much lower down on everyone else's priority list as Andromeda squawked at the sight of her and ushered her into the kitchen and upon an uncomfortably tall stall. She fired quick questions at Tonks, bypassing Cassy's ability to speak for herself completely. A glass of water was quickly thrust into her hands and she could not even complain about the fussing because the water in her hand slipped down her dry throat as though it were gold to a beggar.

'May I?' asked Ted from where he hovered behind his wife.

Cassy saved the awkwardness that was to follow and lifted the hem of the t-shirt up without waiting for anyone else to take charge. It revealed not only the long cut, but a collected of deep bruises, both black and yellow, that had formed across all sides of her abdomen. She looked down at herself in surprise, then dismissed the emotion as quickly as it came. Suddenly, her eyes dropped to a half-mast position, not quite as irritated as she had been, yet wholly unwelcoming to those around her. While it went unnoticed to Andromeda and Ted as they poked and prodded her sides, Tonks honed in on the expression quickly.

'What do you think, dad?' she asked Ted, folding her arms.

'It's healed okay from what I can tell. It's a nasty one. You'll need some potions for those bruises, but I think the biggest problem is just cracked ribs and we have Skele-Repair in the cupboard,' he said happily, though his eyes continued to inspect the mottled skin as he spoke. 'I'll go and get you something now and Andromeda can run you a bath. We'll find you something to wear.'

Cassy said a quiet thank-you and watched as the two older Tonks left the room. She listened to their footsteps upstairs and how they whispered just quietly enough when they thought they were out of range for her to hear them speak at all. A low sputter of water hitting a porcelain tub sounded dimly down the halls and it was only when she was sure neither Andromeda nor Ted could hear that she flicked her steely eyes to Tonks.

'The others?' she questioned shortly.

'Mad-Eye's dead,' she responded bluntly. Tonks leant back against the counter and crossed her arms tightly across her chest. 'His plan worked for a while. All the Death Eaters went after him, Kingsley and Hermione to begin with but they soon realised it was a bit too suspicious. Someone got Mad-Eye, neither of them are sure who it was. We were about to go out looking for his body when I got your message.'

Tonks handed Cassy another glass of water.

'Hermione's fine. She's more shaken than anything after seeing Mad-Eye die, I think. Ron's fine, Harry's fine – I probably should have said that first – and Fred's fine. George...'

Cassy's eyes sharpened at the slight hesitation in Tonks' voice.

'George got his ear cut off by Snape.' Tonks spat the traitorous name. 'It can't be fixed because the tissue is too damaged by the dark magic he used to do it. Snape actually almost killed one of his ex-students.'

A sarcastic retort was on the tip of her tongue because really it should not come as a surprise to anyone that Snape would kill if killing was needed. He had, after all, killed the only man to ever truly believe in him only weeks ago. She bit it down, however, in favour of allowing relief that George was alive wash over her.

'Bellatrix tried really hard to kill me,' she said as though the woman was not her aunt at all.

'I had Lucius,' said Cassy.

They were silent for a time. The sound of water flowing continued and Ted was yet to return to the kitchen. It was obvious that he was giving them time to talk, but it was really unnecessary in Cassy's opinion. If everyone was well and the plan had worked, there was nothing more to talk about. She did not want to sit in deep discussion when she could be soaking her aching muscles in hot water and finally dressed in fresh clothes. There was nothing to say, no matter how probing Tonks' gaze was.

When Ted did return, he thrust two brightly coloured bottles into her hands and held a dozen more in his arms. A mouthful three dulled the ache in her limbs and left only a slight throb around the unsightly scar on her abdomen; a further three found her addled mind clearing and her headache failing. Only when the last of the liquids was tipped into a tumbler did Cassy feel bile rise in her throat at the idea of drinking anything further. It smelt acidic, so sharp and strong that her nose burnt and her eyes watered. Ted handed the glass to her, his own hand pinched over his nose.

'This will help your tissue repair itself. You shan't need much of it, it's strong,' he said.

Cassy eyed him distrustfully. 'This is a medicated potion. You have to be prescribed it.'

Ted smiled sheepishly.

'It has bits floating in it,' she pressed.

'It's fine, I promise! I worked at St. Mungo's when I was younger, I wouldn't give you anything that can kill you,' he said cheerfully, his hands up in front of him to placate her.

With thoughts flying about how dreadfully aged the potion probably was and how she knew from the unforgiving scent it had only brewed stronger in its time upon the shelf, she sighed and threw her head back until all of the yellow transparent liquid was drain. All she could do to stop herself from retching was to hold her breath and will the sickness down.

When the sound of flowing water finally stopped and Andromeda appeared in the doorway, Cassy was very much ready to be left alone. Even Tonks and Ted's light-hearted jokes and cheerful conversation could not suppress the building restlessness inside. She was thankful when Andromeda handed her two towels, a flannel, and a pair of pyjamas before leaving her alone on the landing. The older woman had merely offered her a soft smile, one that looked so strange upon a face so strongly resembling Bellatrix's, and nothing more. There were no words of comfort or insincere confidence that everything would be just fine, that Sirius was somewhere within reach and that they would find him soon enough. Cassy thanked her for her silence.

The mirror did not offer charitable sentiments either. Her reflection was unkind with dirt smeared across her cheeks and a purple bruise on her jaw where arms had not quite shielded her head. Faint yellow ringed her eyes and her lips lacked their usual rosy hue, leaving only a pale pink that made her skin look an unhealthy white. She supposed it was the blood loss when she removed the t-shirt and fully inspected the damage on her torso. Water ran in the plugged sink as she fingered the bruises carefully, feeling her way across her cracked ribs and to the occasional line of split skin where a stone or stick had ripped her skin. The dried blood was chipped away at gently with a warm flannel to reveal more marks. Whilst unattractive, it was hardly the worst injury she had ever had. The day she and her friends infiltrated the Ministry left her with burns and cuts that had taken months of dedicated care to erase from sight entirely. These were merely bruises; she knew she would be fine.

Only when she was happy that a majority of the dirt and blood had been removed from her skin did she step into the steaming bath. There was so much filth on her skin she had not wanted to sully the water so quickly and leave herself needing to leave the sanctuary so soon. It was only then that she inspected her legs. More bruises from the rough landing spotted up and down the long limbs and her knees were grazed but that was all. The burn on her lower shin and ankle was held above the water, the flannel cleaned and drenched with freezing water enlarged to cover it. Her legs faired no worse than her arms and so she found something to be grateful for as her mind began to twist in ways she had been trying so hard to avoid.

Sirius was gone. He was missing but only for now, because they would either find him alive or very much dead. She did not know how much longer they could continue to look for him. It was day now, even though it was only five in the morning and people would notice unfamiliar faces in their village. It would not be long before Kingsley would walk through the door and declare her father officially missing and that was a conclusion Cassy did not find startling at all. Perhaps it was as soon as she peered around in that garden and saw she was alone that she knew she would not find him. Certainly when she had walked three streets and there was no sign of flashing lights and screams of anger something had dropped into her stomach, even if she had refused to dwell on the sensation long enough to accept what it meant. Defeat came when she contacted the Order. Exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her body, injured so thoroughly only due to her inability to think of a proper way to land from such a height without killing herself anyway. An age old feeling crept into her core, one of guilt and blame, both very much directed at the same person.

If only I have been able to land better then I would have been able to keep looking, she thought and slumped deeper into the water. If she had been unhurt then there would have been nothing stopping her from turning the village over before Death Eaters would have had a chance to find and possibly capture her father. _She should have done better_.

The water stung her eyes as she peered up from the bottom of the tub. Despite her stillness, the surface seemed to ripple and the white tiles on the walls shifted in waves around her.

It had only been two years since she had lost Alphard. June 24th was a date burnt in her memory as the most painful of her life, yet only a month after the second anniversary of his passing did she lose her father and to Death Eaters all the same. Although he was not confirmed as dead, she knew if they could not find him today then he was gone. Perhaps not today or in the month after next, but he was as good as dead. They had no idea where to find him. They have no idea how he possibly could have been taken as quickly and as quietly as he seemed to be. He was not someone the Death Eaters would keep alive for long for his history with them was too long, too bloody to be pushed aside and allow him to rot for months in prison while they attend other things.

When Cassy came up for air, it was with a shuddering breath. Water splashed up the sides of the bath and settled slowly around her again. It left silence in its wake. There was nothing. No tap dripped and the pipes did not clank and whine as they did in Hogwarts. Not even the three downstairs could be heard talking or walking. Even beneath the water Cassy had at least been joined by the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears. Now, there was nothing.

* * *

 **Please forgive me! I like to add a little drama, haha. We'll have to wait and see what happens to Sirius. Cassy's already feeling the guilt she's so prone to.**

 **So, I wanted to show how Cassy has improved in her duelling skills, though she was just about managing to hold off Voldemort, even when using some nasty spells. She's good, but she's seventeen, so she wasn't about to incapacitate the darkest wizard of all time.**

 **Also, I agree that House-Elves are ridiculously over-powered! They could just be used for everything if their magic can get through all those enchantments and is undetectable. So, I am ignoring that and will probably have to come up to several excuses as to why they're not being used.**

 **Let me know what you think!**

 **Thanks!**


	7. Breathe deeply

C. M. Black: Bones of a Doe

 **Chapter VII: Breathe deeply**

White light bled into the room through thin curtains, its glare not as harsh or as painful as Cassy first expected it to be when her eyes finally fluttered open. For a moment, her eyes flickered open and closed in an attempt to blink away the pain that stung deep behind her eyelids. The ache remained. A heaviness had set within her very bones. Even to roll onto her back felt like an effort not worth undertaking, even if her arm was dead from her weight upon it. She did, but it only served in highlighting her tight muscles and the dull throb of every bruise on her body.

She had slept on top of the duvet, too warm and too lazy to climb between the neatly made sheets. The sun had still been barely peeking out from over the treetops when she had allowed her head to drop onto the plush pillows. Now the light spread across the ceiling and walls in clearly defined squares, the late afternoon sun still high in the sky. The clock on the wall read past three o'clock. She had slept for ten hours and yet felt worse than she had before.

She lay there for the better part of ten minutes, her mind quickly turning over the day's events, having never really turned off to need time to restart. Carefully, she listened for the slightest of sounds in the house, yet it was silent. The twitter of birds in the garden sounded once or twice but there was no sign of Tonks, Ted, or Andromeda. Cassy supposed Tonks had returned to helping what remained of the Order of the Phoenix to prepare and assess for whatever their next move would be. It was likely they had searched for Moody's body, wherever it fell, and she knew they had not found her father. They would have woken her up, she had made Tonks promise her. That meant he was still missing, gone somewhere she did not know and needed to figure out.

People went missing all the time, though Cassy had never put much effort into finding where they went, always having too many other things to do before she could even think of taking on something else. She had to find time, because dead or alive she would find Sirius. She would not let his body be torn apart and dumped somewhere never to be seen again like all the others.

Sighing heavily, she pushed herself up from the bed and touched her bare feet against the cool floorboards.

'Plum,' she said softly.

A faint crack sounded and the bouncing form of her little house-elf appeared not a second later than she had spoken her name.

'Mistress!' cried Plum. She stumbled forward and placed her tiny hands on Cassy's knees. Immediately, she frowned. Her eyes ran over Cassy, from the bruise on her face to her scraped hands, right down to bandages peeking from underneath the pyjama bottoms. Her eyes welled. ' _Mistress_.'

'I will be fine, Plum. I need you to go to the cottage and get me a dress and some boots, please, the ones near the fireplace,' she said. 'Oh, and a hairbrush and some grips, too.'

Plum nodded, her eyes still watery, before she vanished. It was only a minute before she reappeared with her arms full of carefully folded clothes. She had the forethought to bring much more than Cassy had asked for; having been by Cassy's side for more than a decade, she could see straight through Cassy's vague instructions and knew there was more that she needed and wanted but had not had the chance to consider.

She fussed at the sight of the bruises on her upper arms and very nearly sobbed at the deep purple scar across her ribs. She kept her eyes focuses keenly on the bandaged foot as Cassy pulled her footless tights over her bruised legs: one of Plum's more clever insights. She never asked, though, it was improper to do so if her mistress offered no indication there was anything wrong. Despite that, Plum could not stop herself from insisting she brushed Cassy's hair. It had been many years since Cassy's hair had been twisted and pinned by Plum, not since she had learnt to manage her time better and her study sessions stopped over-running into every other task in her life. Plum remembered though and the years of not being needed for the morning ritual had not stopped her learning all the turns of every up-do Cassy had worn in case she was ever needed again.

Cassy did not protest. It gave her body a much-appreciated rest. She fiddled with the tie around her waist and re-adjusted the buttons down the top-half of the dark green dress. The sleeves hung to her elbows and the hem was cut only a few inches above her knees. She watched in the mirror as her hair was drawn into a messy chignon and smiled as Plum rushed to hold up a mirror for her to see the back.

'Thank-you, Plum,' she said kindly. 'I know you must have been worried when my father and I did not return last night, but you must know this, my father is missing.'

Plum sucked in a sharp breath.

'I cannot say where he is, but for a while, you may find yourself and Kitsy alone. If there is anything unusual or anything concerning, find me right away, okay?' She stood and held her arms out at her sides. 'So, inconspicuous?'

The tights let through the slightest shadows of mottled bruises, but besides those, the scrapes on her arms, and the dark mark on her jaw, there were no signs of injury. Although Cassy's legs protested, she ignored them and crept onto the landing with searching ears and sharp eyes. The low murmur of the television could be heard from the living room; there was no recognisable voices or clanking of kitchen plates or scraping of dining chairs. Everything was alarmingly quiet, it seemed too normal, too average, to follow the day that they had had. She wanted to be part of the aftermath discussion, to be whispering about the successes and near-misses; she also wanted to be very much alone, but lurking on the top floor of an acquaintance's house was not her first choices of places to do it.

The armchair which Andromeda usually occupied was empty. Ted sat on the sofa that slouched in the centre, his eyes fixed on the television that showed some programme Cassy could never hope to understand.

'Good afternoon,' she said.

Ted jumped. 'Ah! Finally awake? I thought you'd be asleep longer, to be honest.'

'Where's Tonks?' asked Cassy.

'I'm not quite sure. She said she'd be back before the evening's over.' Ted heaved himself out of the chair and smiled widely. 'Do you want anything? A drink? Food?'

'A drink would be wonderful, please,' she said, promptly ignoring the way her stomach churned after not having eaten for almost twenty-four hours. The ache in her eyes and weight of her bones made her feel queasy enough as it was without adding the pungent smell of food to the list.

'Tea? Coffee? Coke? Water?' he listed cheerfully as he pushed past her, down the hall and to the kitchen.

She followed silently and watched as he pulled a patterned mug from the cupboard and set it down in front of the kettle. She hesitated. 'Coffee.'

Cassy still hated coffee, the taste was bitter and no matter what anyone said they nearly all tasted the same to her. Despite this, she had come to crave coffee at certain times, ones she loathed to put a label on but knew it was something uncomfortably akin to distress.

Ted thought nothing of it and began to rummage for the jar in the back of a high cupboard.

The mug was hot in her hands, too warm for the summer month. She held it tightly all the same, even as Ted ushered her into the lounge and waved her into Andromeda's usual armchair. As he spoke aimlessly, she breathed in the redolent scent. Her thoughts wandered and it was only through a conscious effort that her attention returned to Ted at all. She hummed and nodded with each gesture and kept her eyes politely flickering between him and the television of which he was so interested. She could not follow the programme too well for a dozen people with a dozen strange, Muggle names appeared and disappeared before anything of consequence seemed to happen.

Ted chuckled at something Cassy had no stomach for, the characters ridiculous actions more irritating than remotely humorous. She sipped her drink, half empty and now only lukewarm. The armchair was well-worn and she sunk deeply into its embroidered cushions; her muscles eased in the comfortable position, though her knees throbbed in faint protest at being outstretched and not folded in the familiar position she had become accustomed to in her many hours of sleep.

Thankfully, a loud melody played over the characters' fading faces and the drama was replaced by lists and lists of fast moving names.

Ted turned to her again. 'Right, what would you like to eat?'

'I'm fine, thank-you,' she said immediately.

'You have to eat,' he insisted.

Cassy eyed him for a few long seconds, before shaking her head and repeating herself.

'It'll make you feel better,' he tried weakly and then sighed when she just stared down into the murky brown water in the mug. 'I really think you should eat before you go. Apparating on an empty stomach will make you feel worse.'

She looked up. 'Where am I to go?'

'The Weasleys',' said Ted. 'Molly's been asking after you non-stop from what Arthur's Patronus said. We thought it'd be best if you stayed with them until something is sorted out.'

Cassy stood suddenly and brushed the non-existent creases from her green dress, 'Then I shall get out of your hair as soon as possible then.'

'Dora wanted you to stay until she came back with news,' said Ted quickly as he reached a hand out as if to grab her. Too far for him to reach, Cassy stooped to pull her and Sirius' wands out from down the side of the sofa cushion where she had hidden them. With the wands in one hand and the mug in the other, she strode down the hallway towards the kitchen. He followed her at a more leisurely pace and Cassy knew then that the wards were still up within the walls of the house; she could not simply Apparate away.

'Mr Tonks, you have given me more hospitality than I could ever ask for, especially as I was not your agreed charge for the operation - '

'Dear Lord, the last person I've heard speak like that was Andromeda when she was with her Slytherin friends,' said Ted with a hearty laugh. 'Honestly, Cassy, it's not a problem to have you – and please call me Ted. We've been through this before.'

Still, Cassy pursed her lips into a thin, defiant line.

'Fine, I suppose there is no harm in taking you to the Weasleys',' he said with an exasperated smile.

'I mean no offence by it,' she said quickly, but Ted waved her concerns away.

'You want to see your friends after a terrible night, you don't need to explain,' he assured her, 'but I really must insist I take you to the Weasleys' and you not go on your own.'

'I really insist you do not,' she retorted whilst unlocking the back door.

The warm air hit her skin in a wholly unappreciated manner. Outside was hotter than inside and she had had quite enough of the heat upon her burnt ankle, no matter how much her aching muscles welcomed the tepid heat.

'Good-bye, Ted. Thank-you very much, hopefully, I will see you again in better circumstances,' she called and waved a hand over her shoulder as she began to stride down the garden path. Ted made a noise that was somewhere between indignation and amusement that she had entirely dismissed him and his role within his own house. He shouted after her, wishing her well and promising that Tonks would catch up with her later whenever she gets back. With another short wave over her shoulder, she continued down the path until the very end of the garden. Her wand thrummed in her hand. The wards did not stop at the back if the long land the house was built upon. She climbed the small fence that separated their land from the farmer's field beyond and continued to walk for what must have been close to quarter of a mile farther before the magic sizzled out of the air and a rush of freedom from her wand shuddered up her arm to tell her she was no longer trapped by the wards.

She Disapparated.

It took less than a second to appear within a set of long, four walls she had seen before. The ceiling sloped and the summer sun bled in through dusty windows half-hidden by piles of broken or useless junk. Almost immediately, the narrow door was flung open and a flash of light greeted her. The shelf of tin cans behind her split in two and they scattered noisily as she sidestepped the spell. She threw her hands up, her wand pointed to the corrugated ceiling but not released just in case. Unlike last time, the figure in the doorway was not Mr Weasley with kind, knowing eyes, but a tall woman with billowing silver locks and her brow pinched into a fierce scowl.

'Fleur,' she greeted lightly.

Fleur waved her wand threateningly. 'What did 'Arry Potter offer to do for me in 1995?'

Although a horrendously obscure question, a fond memory flickered into the front of Cassy's brain. 'To rescue your younger sister from the Black Lake in the second task.'

With a slow nod, Fleur lowered her wand. She crossed the shed in only a few long strides and wrapped her arms firmly around Cassy's shoulders. Cassy tensed. While it was rude to squirm out of a hug, she did not see why in Merlin's name Fleur had to touch her at all when the two hardly knew one another and cursed the entire situation a hundred times in her mind before Fleur released her. The other seemed not to notice that Cassy had merely lifted one arm to pat her back in a way Hermione had once insisted was patronising.

Fleur ushered her into the house through the kitchen door and glided into the living space beyond as though the queen of the little, crooked house. The kitchen was filled with steam. Large pans of water boiled on the stove, full of potatoes and carrots and peas, no doubt grown by the Weasleys' own hands. A large lump of meat was in the oven, glistening in the orange glow and surrounded by roasting onions. Fleur opened her arms widely and clapped them together in front of her chest as the came to a halt in front of the dining table. A portly woman was bent over with narrowed eyes fixated on a deep burn on the surface of the shining table that Cassy could clearly see from the doorway she stood in.

'Molly!' said Fleur. 'We 'ave a visitor.'

'I know, Fleur, we have lots of them and one of those blasted children put a hot pot down on my table!'

Fleur hovered around her soon-to-be mother-in-law. 'No, I mean - '

'Can you get me a dishcloth, please? I need to see if this will come off – no, nevermind, this calls for something more aggressive. I'll get it myself – oh, Merlin's beard, Cassy, you surprised me!' It took a second for Mrs Weasley to realise that Cassy was not one of the many teenagers that had been amok on her property for the last day. 'When did you get here, dear?'

She hurried over to her and, reluctantly, Cassy allowed the older woman to drag her into a constricting hold. She pulled away quickly, her hands on Cassy's shoulders, whilst her eyes roamed up and down to check for injuries. They flew to her cheek and she pressed at the soft skin that was swollen and purple.

'I've got something for that,' said Mrs Weasley, her smile tense and her eyes firm around the corners.

'Ted did give me some potions for it, but it's refusing to fade anymore,' said Cassy.

A little pot of paste with a sharp smell of citrus whizzed overhead from where a box of first aid had been nestled above the kitchen cupboards. Mrs Weasley smothered the bruise on Cassy's jaw several times before it became apparent that it was just not going to weaken to anything less than a dark, muddy green. When she stepped back to assess if it was time to give up, Mrs Weasley rung her hands together tightly and for a brief moment, Cassy thought she might burst into tears.

'Cassy,' said the older woman softly, 'what happened?'

She was silent for a moment. 'Someone attacked the Therstral and we fell somewhere up in Scotland before we could reach Professor McGonagall's house.'

There was no flicker of recognition within Mrs Weasley that there was more to the story than Cassy let on.

'Has there been any sign of Sirius?' she asked, here eyebrows knitted together in worry.

'None,' said Cassy shortly.

'Arthur is still out looking,' she continued. 'Bill's with him. Last I heard Remus and Kingsley were searching too. Alastor is...'

'Dead,' filled in Cassy blankly. 'Yes, Tonks told me.'

Mrs Weasley bit her lip.

'How's George?' asked Cassy, her tone shifting from curt to kind.

'Oh, he's doing much better this morning,' said Mrs Weasley brightly. 'He was in a right state last night – I couldn't tell at first – Remus just brought him in cover in... I thought... but he's going to be fine.'

She fussed for a few more minutes until Fleur pressed a cup of steaming tea into Cassy's hands and directed her towards one of the comfier sofas to sit.

'I shall go and let everyone know you are 'ere!' she said with delight. As she turned to go up the winding staircase, she cast a worried glance over at Mrs Weasley, who had worked herself into a state of near tears not, Cassy assumed, for the first time in the last day.

With a deep breath, Mrs Weasley smiled. 'Right, what have you had to eat today?'

Before Cassy could more than open her mouth, Mrs Weasley had already marched into the kitchen, first aid box in hand, and was muttering to herself about what snacks she could make so close to tea time.

'Mrs Weasley,' called Cassy, standing. 'I am really fine, I have already eaten. Please don't bother yourself.'

A stern frown crossed Mrs Weasley's face for a moment as she examined Cassy, but she eventually relented and shooed her back out of the kitchen. She did not sit, but rather hovered at the bottom of the stairs as thunderous footsteps and shrill shouts echoed down the narrow staircase. She recognised the sound of the closest set of feet; she had heard them too many times rushing up and down the dormitory stairs to ever mistake them again.

'Cassy!'

She was thrown into the air, a pair of lean arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Her own arms immediately encircled his neck, her face pressed into the crook of his neck and surrounded by a familiar heady musk. Harry turned and splattered quick kisses the side of her head, his arms still binding them closely. He pulled his lips away and rested his head on top of hers, kissed her hair and buried his nose within the raven strands.

'Sorry I'm late,' she whispered.

His arms held her a fraction tighter.

'Cassy,' breathed the unmistakable tone of Hermione.

Slowly, unwillingly, she slipped out of Harry's arms and before his hands had had the chance to drop to his sides, Hermione had already wrapped her arms tightly around Cassy's back in a crushing hold. A sharp gasp had Hermione a foot away from her again, her brown eyes ablaze with alarm and anxiety.

'What's wrong? What did I do?' she questioned instantly.

Behind her were Ginny, Ron, Fred and George. Fleur had returned to helping Mrs Weasley in the kitchen and their squabbling voices could easily be heard.

'I'm just a bit bruised and battered.' Cassy rubbed her side. 'No more hugs today, I have had enough for a lifetime.'

'No hugs is enough for you for a lifetime,' commented Ginny, who, despite Cassy's words, still slung an arm over her shoulder and pulled her into her side in a brief greeting.

'You look like you've got some stories to tell,' said Fred, eyeing her.

'So does he,' she retorted and nodded to George who heavily leant on Fred. A pristine, white bandage was wrapped around his forehead and through his hair. A large wad of cotton bulged on the side of his head right where he his left ear should have been.

Cassy wondered how long she had to leave it before she could ask to see the mangled remains.

'Yeah, I do, but they've all heard my story,' he said with a grin.

The kitchen had fallen quiet.

'Somewhere else,' she whispered.

'My room?' suggested Ron.

Being at the very top of the Weasleys wonky home meant that there were far fewer opportunities to be overheard or disturbed. It took a great deal more effort for anyone to traipse up so many sets of stairs to get to his room than any other and so Ron had always been less likely to be called upon for chores and when he was, he often used the excuse of not having heard his mother's shout at all. The room was fine for one occupant, two at most, but it was not suited to seven late teens. Fred and George took up one of the cots set up with Ginny squashed on the end. Ron waved Cassy over to sit on his bed and Harry took up residence nearest the headboard on her left and Hermione sat on her right at the foot of it. Ron sat on his school trunk nearest to the door.

The door clicked shut and a Muffliato charm was placed all around them. Then, the barrage of questions began. They were all similar, who, what, when, where, and why. They wanted to know absolutely everything.

'The safe-house we were designated was Professor McGonagall's,' she began. 'The flight was fine for a moment, there was no one around us and we had made it clear of London and up towards the Midlands before anyone found us. There were only three at first and that was easy enough to deal with, but then Voldemort appeared.'

Harry's arm wound tighter around her.

Hermione looked at her grimly. 'I had him too for a bit. The decoy worked until he suddenly vanished. We thought he must have figured out who the real Harry was. Moody is...'

'Dead,' she said. 'I know.'

'Me and Tonks had Bellatrix,' said Ron. 'She's a nasty piece of work, a right crazy bat.'

'Snape,' offered George, indicating to his missing ear.

'He was only there for a moment before someone shot down the Thestral. That's where most of these scrapes are from rather than actually fighting.' She turned over her arms to fully show the array of mottled skin and red scratches. 'I couldn't think straight to halt myself properly.'

The retelling of the duel was easy enough. She did not need to go through every move and every encounter and rather focused on the fact that the Death Eaters she faced were not nearly as challenging as the ones from the Ministry of Magic had been. Voldemort had new recruits. She carefully slipped off her shoe and peeled back the sock. The bandages were already slight discoloured from the blisters popping during her trek through the Tonks' garden. She gently pulled them down to reveal the raw and charred skin beneath.

'Oh my God!' squeaked Hermione. Her hands were cupped across her mouth and she had already begun to tread through the tangle of Weasley limbs on her way to the door.

'Merlin,' breathed Ginny, 'you need to go to St. Mungo's.'

'Have you shown anyone this?' asked Harry, his free hand moved to lift the leg of the tights a fraction higher. 'How far does it go up?'

Cassy placed her hand a third of the way up her shin. 'Mostly up to there. There are a few patches here and there where I didn't block it all. And no, there was no point letting other people fuss over it when Hermione has exactly what I need.' She looked back at the now open doorway that the mop of messy curls had vanished through. It was only a minute later that rapid footsteps grew louder and louder until Hermione appeared back within the room, sealed the entrance again, and had wiggled herself a spot on the floor between the two beds and many legs.

A small, glass phial was held in her tight fists. The top came away to become a pipette and three drops were placed in the scorched skin of her foot and ankle. It tingled and itched as the skin began to stitch itself back together, leaving raw dappling of discoloured skin. She could feel how the effects stretched farther up her leg and repaired the unseen wounds. With visible glee, Cassy observed her tenderly repaired skin.

'Then what happened?' pressed Harry.

She pulled her sock on again. 'Voldemort suddenly vanished in a hurry, I assume to go and find you.'

Harry's lips grew into a thin line. 'Yeah, probably. I used _Expelliamus_ on a Death Eater and it gave me away.'

'Well, after he left I went looking for my father and this was all I found.' She pulled Sirius' wand from her dress pocket and turned it over to Harry. It was taken with gentle hands, passed through his long fingers in much the same delicate way it had been with her when she had found it.

'Nothing else?' he asked.

'There was no blood of his and no signs of a fight.'

'Sirius would have put up a fight.'

'I know.' She rubbed her forehead. 'I had to contact the Order and find out where I was. Turns out you had to walk quite far out to find any signs at all, let alone the village name. It took a few hours for them to find me.'

'We saw your Patronus through the window. It was gone before we could get to it, but dad was with Bill, Lupin, Tonks, and Kingsley at the time so he filled us in before they all went to look for you two,' said Ron.

'They'd been debating whether some of them were going to retrace the flight path to see if the could find you along the way,' added Ginny.

'Tonks said you went to her parents' house, why not just come here?' questioned George. He rubbed his rimmed eyes, the lack of peaceful, natural sleep not unannounced on his face.

'I am certain with your ear you all had more than enough to deal with,' said Cassy with a pointed look. 'Ted happens to have worked at St. Mungo's before, so he's medically trained.'

'So you needed medical treatment?' interjected Hermione quickly. 'Not for your foot, clearly because nothing has touched it to still be in that state, so what else was wrong?'

Looking between them all, Cassy raised a finger to trace a long line over the soft fabric of her dress. 'I got hit in the side with a spell – _Noctdium_ , Kingsley called it – right before the Thestral was killed. I healed it myself before I went to look for my father, but parts of it had re-opened and it bled a lot, so Tonks took me there first.'

'Don't you think that's an important part of the story to include?' squawked Hermione.

'It's fine. It's just a scar and some broken ribs,' asserted Cassy easily.

'And a burnt leg,' added Ginny.

'Formally burnt leg,' corrected Cassy. 'Enough about me. What happened with everyone else.'

Everyone had their own little story to tell, an hour or so of their lives compressed into no more than a few minutes of speech. Ron was surprisingly bashful about his own feats, although Tonks had praised him highly. Hermione took a moment to compose herself half-way through her retelling of how the Death Eater's swarmed them almost immediately, just needing to intake a shuddering breath to explain how one of the Death Eaters had shot Moody in the back with an Avada Kedavra. Fred had had only a few Death Eaters on his tail; George had been safe with Remus until Snape appeared and cursed off his ear, killing a Death eater on George's other side in the process. Fred fidgeted while George spoke, his eyes deliberately seeking out anything that might help him to ignore his younger twin's story.

They hardly had time to discuss anything more, least of all Harry's own journey, before Fleur cracked open the door and told them tea was ready and waiting. Cassy recoiled at the scent of the lavishly displayed food. Her stomach churned and winced at the mere idea of eating, so much so that she sought out Mrs Weasley in the kitchen as the quickly prepared a large boat of gravy.

'Mrs Weasley, I appreciate you having me for dinner, but I really cannot eat,' she said.

Mrs Weasley turned as though the words had assaulted her. Her brown-eyes were narrowed into tight slits in an expression that Cassy had only ever seen mothers able to cast. 'You need to eat. You've had a terrible day.'

'I really can't, the smell... it makes me nauseous,' she said regretfully. Her upturned eyebrows and apologetic eyes depleted all fight within Mrs Weasley immediately. She knew the moment she had won when the older woman's shoulders sagged and her face eased into a soft smile. 'I do appreciate you having me, though, and I don't mean to be a bother - '

'Cassy, sweetheart, I will make you something whenever you're ready to eat,' said Mrs Weasley. 'I assume you want to go somewhere else? Upstairs? Outside?'

'Outside would be great, thank-you,' said Cassy. She hesitated. 'Actually, Mrs Weasley, I need to go back home to collect my belongings. I have nothing with me.'

'I'll go with you then.'

Cassy was startled. 'I can go by myself.'

'No, I am coming with you,' said Mrs Weasley, already moving to untie her apron.

'But your tea,' protested Cassy.

'I was going to eat later when Arthur came back anyway,' she said dismissively. 'Now, I'm afraid I don't know how to get through the wards, so I'll have to come alongside you.'

Cassy could only blink as the woman pushed past her with the few remaining plates of steaming food and set them down in front of her children. She pushed her curly hair back from her face and wiped her hands on a tea-towel as she gave them all a once over with a severe eye.

'I'm going out,' she announced, much to the shock of her four children.

'You never go out,' said Ron, rushing to swallow a mouth full of food.

'I am now, so behave yourselves! Any messing about and you'll be cleaning this house from top to bottom tomorrow with a toothbrush,' she threatened. She turned back to Cassy with a smile and looped her hand around her arm. 'We shan't be long! Let your father know if he comes back before we do.'

Mrs Weasley led her back into the lean-to as it was the only place the Apparition wards allowed specific people to enter and leave from, and gave Cassy a nod to go. It was only a second later that her stomach gave a horrendous lurch and her eyes squeezed shut to hide the nauseating swirl of colours that flashed before her. Had she not made the trip several times and known when to brace, she was completely confident she could have puked the moment they landed in the front garden.

'Are you alright, dear?' asked Mrs Weasley.

Cassy nodded, despite being hunched over with a hand on her abdomen from the pain of pulled muscles and in hope that she could somehow squash the sickness back down. She gave a shuddering breath and righted herself, ignoring the worried woman beside her.

The house did not have a lock, but rather a passworded charm and a recognition of just who was entering. Mrs Weasley shuffled in with an admiring gaze. It was not the largest of houses, but the cottage was cosy and homey in a way she clearly had not expected Sirius to be. Several photographs hung in the hallway, ones of Sirius and James; Cassy and Harry on the first occasion they had met as young children; Sirius and James after a Quidditch match, coated in dirt but grinning broadly. There were many of Harry and Cassy when they were at school, no doubt from Neville's extensive collection. They were together at the Yule Ball and another from their last day of school in their first year. Beside those photographs was one of James and Lily on their wedding day, flowers blooming behind them and Lily's auburn hair ruffled in the wind. There was a new one beside that. Shocking pink hair that curled only to the woman's ears and the bright smile of a scarred face – Cassy had not noticed her father put up a photograph of Tonks and Remus' wedding.

Her hand was squeezed. She turned to look at Mrs Weasley, the other's face with a tender smile. When she turned to look at her too, her eyes shone brightly with a film of tears.

'He's a good man, Sirius. Despite all of our disagreements, he's a good man. And I wasn't about to let you come here alone,' she said quietly.

She wanted to tell her how unnecessary it was, how she did not need anyone's help to pack a few things, after all, she had packed away an entire house when Alphard had died and she had been younger then. Yet, whilst she might have said those words many years ago, they were but a brief thought to her now, a comfort blanket of stubborn independence everyone was working hard to get her to shed. Instead, she smiled gratefully at the thoughtfulness, wondering what she had done to be surrounded by people who had the capacity to care so much that they would extend it to her so willingly.

'Thank-you, Mrs Weasley,' she said.

Mrs Weasley squeezed her hand again. 'Whatever happens, Cassy, whatever the outcome of... _everything_ might be, know you will always have a home with us. Always.'

Cassy's gaze drifted from her face to the floor as her cheeks became hot and pink. 'Mrs Weasley...'

'Molly,' she said with a smile. 'Call me Molly, you're an adult now.'

Cassy glanced up at her. 'Molly.'

If a single hug could speak one-thousand words, then Cassy thought the embrace Mrs Weasley gave could easily speak two.

* * *

 **The chapter wasn't planned to go like this, but it happened a lot more naturally than my plan would have gone because while Cassy's doesn't need or want comfort, we all know Mrs Weasley would be there to give it anyway. She's like the mother of all mothers, just mothering anything that gets near her.**

 **Anyway, sorry this chapter took so long to publish. Real life has been busy and planning this story is a little slower than normal, I think because I'm trying to twist a lot of stuff but still have it make sense and be probable; it's easy to do when they're confined to a school, but when out in the world there are lots of cause and effect things I need to consider.**

 **Hope you liked it. I love all the reviews so far.**

 **Thanks!**


	8. Speeches, secrets, and surprises

C. M. Black: Bones of a Doe

 **Chapter VIII: Speeches, secrets, and surprises**

The Sun was almost set when Tonks stepped through the Weasleys' front door. Even the bright yellows and oranges that bled through the windows and gave the whole room warmth could not give life to her cold, brown hair. Behind her, Remus looked older than he ever had. Even when he had been dozing on the train in Cassy's third year at Hogwarts he had not looked as worn or stricken as he did in the doorway.

Mrs Weasley rung her hands together tightly as she came to greet her husband and son who had filed in before the married couple. Cassy pretended not to see her worried glances.

She stood and patted down her dress. 'Thank-you, everyone, for trying.'

Tonks opened her arms for a hug, but Cassy sidestepped her. Remus made no move to prevent her from leaving to the garden, although he very well could have. She did not stop at the chicken coops, nor when the penned pigs followed her in hope of food. She did not stop at the old apple tree, or the crooked gate of the next field. She had passed the pond and the trickling stream that filled it, passed the remnants of an old stick fort and a tire swing thick with moss. She kept walking until she knew she was on the boundaries of the property.

It was only when a house became visible on the crest of a far-off hill that she halted and dropped to the ground beneath an old ash tree.

Her first instinct was to scream at herself. When the thoughtless wandering ceased, it left only the raging voice that she should never have left the house, that she should have been more grateful for everyone's efforts, and that she should have waited to hear what they had to say. Then, she thought of Harry.

She groaned and rubbed her eyes. She should have stayed for Harry. The last few hours he had paced and sat and stood and paced and sat. His restless bones had him turning to the front door with every rattle the wind gave and every half-an-hour he had to be reminded exactly why he could not go and search for Sirius himself.

The question of how to respond to the unknown was only answered by Cassy's deep thought of what her father would want. Sirius would not want her to mope. If he was dead, then he died honourably and the way he would have wanted to – in battle fighting for what he believed in. If he was alive, she would be of no help to him wallowing in her own pity.

That did not stop the ache in her chest and the twist of her stomach.

'Hey.'

Some distance away stood Harry, his hands in his pockets and his chequered shirt sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

Cassy leant her head back on the rough bark of the thick tree trunk, her forearms resting on her knees that were drawn up towards her chest. When he sat beside her, she spoke: 'Sorry, I should have stayed.'

'Not if you didn't want to,' he said simply. 'Besides, I was quite glad for an excuse to leave myself. Everyone started giving me these looks.'

'Pitying,' supplied Cassy and he nodded mildly.

'I hate them.'

He began to pull at the long stalks of grass at the base of the tree. The strands ripped out with little effort, the soil too dry to offer any resistance, and he jabbed them back in again when he had finally collected a handful. Several of the long, green leaves of the tree fluttered down around them, softly grazing the daisies and dandelions that sprouted all through the surrounding field. A bird twittered overhead, noisy in its complaints about two humans being so close to its nest, rustling the leaves and shaking the branches above.

'I knew they would not find him,' admitted Cassy. 'The Death Eaters set out to specifically target him on Voldemort's orders. I think he was hurt, too, before the fall.'

'What makes you say that?' questioned Harry.

'He hesitated when I asked how he was,' she said, twirling a leaf between her fingers.

Silence fell around them again. The ghostly hands of the winds ruffled their hair and clothes, swayed the grass and pushed loose petals tumbling across the ground. Cassy could not decide what type of person she expected to live in the house atop the hill. It was tall and had windows spectacled about with no pattern, most likely having wonky floors and uneven ceilings like the Burrow. It lacked any obvious signs of peculiarity, so she knew it must not be Luna's home, though she lived very close by. She wondered if it was Cedric's old home, having heard his parents moved away after his death.

'They'll be looking for us, y'know,' said Harry.

Cassy turned her head in question.

'I left when they were all talking,' he said.

She smirked. 'Let them look. I feel as though this is the last moment of peace we will get in a while.'

Harry moved to take her hand in his. 'This is my fault.'

'How exactly is it your fault when I was the one with him?' asked Cassy monotonously. She had been preparing for the inevitable moment when Harry tried to shoulder all responsibility for everything and everyone around him.

'If it wasn't for me - '

'For you being the Chosen One? For being his Godson? Harry, even if you had never been born do you think that would have kept my father safe? Do you think he would have just never joined the Order, never risked his life for anyone? He would have and if it was not for you and the sacrifice of your parents he would certainly have been killed long before now.' There was a twinge in her chest at her own admission that she thought he was gone. 'I would have grown up an orphan and Voldemort would still have been at large, killing more people and ruining more families. That is all there is to it.'

She held firm and forced his wandering eyes to meet her own. She hoped, as he gazed at her, that he could see how earnestly she meant every word. It was difficult for her to put sentiment into sentences, so the frank statements were all she had to offer, but it did not mean there was nothing more behind them. She pulled her hands from his and tugged him into a warm embrace. Each time her hand ran up and down his back, she could feel each knot of tension, every taut muscle full of blame and guilt.

'None of this - _none_ of this is your fault, Harry,' she whispered. 'None of it.'

* * *

When she had been making arrangements in the prior weeks, Cassy had not anticipated having to stay at the Weasleys' home. In her mind, she had based everything around her freedom of movement and that largely included searching for extra supplies and seeking company in people who may have been able to shed light on what they were to face in the upcoming years now Voldemort was surging towards complete control at an immeasurable pace.

She had plans to speak to Kingsley, to further her skills with the guiding eye of Moody – though dead as he was she could not begrudge the Weasleys for stopping that particular venture – and wished to speak to Ted about how Muggle-borns lived the first time around. However, Molly kept an unyieldingly close eye on all of her charges and it drove Cassy close to madness.

'She's going to kill you when you get back, you know that, right?' said George as he masked the windows with a quick spell to make the room look unoccupied from outside. Cassy was sat on a green sofa that was marred with many small burn holes and messy repairs to the corded fabric. The low table in front was covered in sketches and magazines, quickly scribbled notes and uncorked phials of potions she dared not put too much thought into.

'Yes, but I have stated twice that I am more than happy to live alone and she throws a fit every time,' said Cassy.

'You've only been there two days,' snorted George, 'try living there for seventeen years.'

'I'm not her child,' retorted Cassy but George gave her a pointed look.

'My parents have seven kids, Cassy, they are like nifflers to gold with anything remotely incapable of taking care of itself. As far as mum is concerned, you're her second daughter.'

The floor found itself home to everything that had once occupied the coffee table. In its place was a small box with glowing dials and a circular microphone on a golden stand. George fiddled with the buttons and switches until giving Cassy a double thumbs-up.

'All ready,' he said. 'Lee should be here any minutes now, I think he's been held up at work or something – Fred answered the owl. He'll be able to get this broadcast when the station's been set up officially.'

Lee Jordon had taken his Quidditch commentary skills and had lent them towards radio presenting. Though he was naturally charismatic and been offered a job upon graduation, his voice had yet to resonate through any stations and his role mainly consisted of helping brainstorm for funny segments and preparing games for the presenters and guests to play on air. There was an unusual glee to Fred's voice when he explained it all to Cassy the night she and Harry returned to the house after the news of Sirius' disappearance was confirmed by the Order's empty return. At first, Cassy had not seen the point to the joyful whispers, until she turned to fully take in the sight of the mischievous glint in his brown eyes. Lee had all the knowledge of the radio business with none of the recognition. Lee could make his own station and broadcast the truth and no one would even know it was him.

Creating a speech had not been difficult. The ideas poured from her brain and onto the parchment with no resistance at all, even though she scribbled them in dark corners at odd times in between the seemingly endless list of jobs Mrs Weasley had found for them. She had Harry and Ron sneak down into Ginny's bedroom the night before to present it to them and they nodded back with high praises and a few suggestions.

It was not until Lee arrived and checked over the equipment with unrestrained enthusiasm for their dangerous and most likely illegal activity that Cassy began her speech in the silence above The Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

'On the twenty-seventh of July, Death Eaters attacked the Order of the Phoenix in search of Harry Potter.'

With a measured voice, inflexion put in purposefully in all of the right places, places carefully chosen to convey exactly what she intended each word to mean, Cassy delivered her speech.

'On that same night, my father vanished. I know that Death Eaters have him, but I do not know where he is, if he is dead or alive.'

She spoke for almost twenty minutes. She spoke of what she hoped would happen, how she implored people to look out for one another, how she had seen the fear in the fires that raged the streets weeks ago and had helped bury bodies only a week before in South Wales. She spoke of how she had reunited a young man she had known from school with his family, he alive and his family dead but by the end of the night they were all to be lowered in the same hole together, his injuries too deep and his shock too great. She knew they were afraid, but she also knew they were so very brave.

'So, I ask you, please, to stay as strong as you have been, to find strength to fight for everyone around you because we are all witches and wizards. We all share the gift of magic, we are all the same in that no matter where we come from. We have a duty bound in our magic to look after one another in a way that the Death Eaters are incapable of doing because they do not see magic as anything more than a sign of power; to them, it is not our very core, our home, our life, something each of us will understand, but instead it is power to be wielded by the few they deem fit enough to have it. Those who are not will be stripped of it just like they were not even twenty-years-ago.'

Fred crept around to crouch beside George's chair and gave Cassy a beaming smile as she continued to read. She moved on, encouraging the co-existence of Muggles, how so many things had been of Muggle origin and how magic diluted itself not because of breeding with Muggles but often because of inter-breeding. After all, she had a long list of Pure-Blood lines who had produced a great deal of Squibs over the last century. Rarely did a Muggle-born produce non-magic children.

When she had finished and had thanked the potential listeners for their time, she sat back in the chair and brought the parchment up to cover her face. 'That was horrid.'

'Nah!' beamed Fred while he clapped loudly with George. 'The bit I heard was great. You should go for Minister of Magic, I'd vote for you.'

She met his wink with a flat stare. 'I think I will leave Minister of Magic for Hermione to pursue. There are far too many rules and regulations involved in that for me, thank-you.' She turned to Lee. 'Is that okay?'

'That's great,' he said gleefully. 'Once everything is up and running I'll play it. I'll be sure to give it a few weeks, of course, because word needs to get out first and we've not yet found a secure was to air it in a way that everyone will be able to access, but we're getting there.'

Cassy smiled. 'Thank-you for letting me do this.'

'Thank- _you_ for doing what you're doing,' he said.

Cassy did not loiter and instead returned to the Weasleys' home only a few minutes later. As much as she wanted to sit and chat, she knew it was only a matter of time before she received a Patronus message from a very resigned Remus or a frustrated Tonks asking exactly where she had run off to and how she really needed to stay put, at least until the wedding was out of the way. Fancying neither of their particular lecturing styles right then, Cassy found herself outside of the Burrow's gate at the end of a dusty pathway.

She opened the gate, already able to hear in her mind the ring of the bell in the kitchen as the entry was noted by one spell or another. The bushes that were normally overgrown were trimmed and still bursting with colour. Only the occasional gnome crossed the path, although almost all that did cursed and swore at her with their unfortunately limited vocabulary Fred and George had taught them.

Even from the great distance between her and the house, she saw the front door open. As expected, a red-haired woman tumbled from within the wonky home; her arms were not open wide as they usually were when she charged. They were stiff at her sides and her face was not set in its typical tearful smile, full of relief. She looked furious, but it was nothing Cassy had not expected.

'Cassiopeia Black!' bellowed Molly as she marched down the beaten path. 'How dare you! A letter? You were gone and leave a letter in your place? None of you are to leave the house. Was that not clear to you? You cannot just gallivant off wherever you please, whenever you please, or have you not noticed what's been happening this past year? People are dying!'

When Molly reached out to seize her arm, Cassy evaded it and took a step away from the older woman and one closer to the house as she danced around her easily.

'I have no intention of staying, Molly,' she said with emphasis on Mrs Weasley's given name. 'I am merely here to collect my things before I return home.'

'Excuse me?' demanded Molly, eyes wide.

'As you said, I cannot risk your family and yet I cannot stay and do nothing, so if it will make you more comfortable then I will leave,' she said simply.

Molly seemed at a loss for words. Cassy took the opportunity to turn towards the house.

'I will only be a moment and then I will be out of your way, I promise. You have enough to worry about without my presence adding to the stress,' she said.

Her walk was interrupted by a deep sigh and hurried footsteps. Molly fell into step with her, her hands tugging at the front of her apron anxiously.

'I'm not asking you to leave, dear, I just mean that we really can't risk you wandering off whenever you please. We were terrified something might happen to you or that you had done something risky.'

Cassy raised an eyebrow and the flush on Molly's cheeks showed she caught the expression.

'I just mean that while it's great you want to help, you are so young, Cassy, too young to be doing what you are,' said Molly softly, mournfully almost.

'When my father was seventeen, he joined the Order of the Phoenix,' stated Cassy, neither defiantly nor arrogantly but simply as a fact. It was not meant as a defence because, really, she reasoned, using her father as an example of good ideas was never going to work, especially not with Mrs Weasley.

Molly bit her lip. 'He had graduated Hogwarts. You still have your education to complete.'

'You know that is not going to happen,' said Cassy, stopping outside of the front door and finally facing her fully. 'We cannot return there, not with Albus gone.'

'But where will you go?' The kind and motherly tone had shifted into a much more familiar quality Cassy was far more confident in retorting to.

'You know we cannot tell you that either,' she said and dropped her own gently firm voice in favour of her usual unyielding one, even if Hermione had commented more than once that she had a tendency to sound rather jeering when using it. 'Mrs Weasley, I am happy to leave if it will make things easier and more comfortable for you.'

Molly seemed to realise Cassy meant it. While her cheeks flushed with anger, she reluctantly relented in her demands and told Cassy she was always welcome to stay, she was just not to disappear again. After all, she had promised to help with the wedding arrangements.

Cassy had done no such thing and she very much resented whoever it was who had given Molly the idea she had said she did. She was curious about Fleur's chosen decorations and enthused to see the elegant dress hidden in an upstairs wardrobe, but she had never agreed to scrub the Weasleys' home three times a day quite needlessly in the time she had been there. She would hesitate to admit it had only been two days since her arrival, it felt like weeks under the sharp eye of Molly.

The first evening she had been there she had not been asked to help at all, not with her bruises and freshly mended ribs. However, the next morning she had been assigned small tasks that required no heavy lifting but were endless in length. Dusting hardly aggravated her aching limbs when she took regular breaks, but she had also been asked to wash the dishes, organise the cupboards – of which the Delecours would never see the contents of – and follow Molly as she continuously asked her opinions on the furniture's placement and whether or not she needed more flowers or fewer pillows.

She loathed to ask Fleur herself and instead had turned to Cassy to make decisions on how presentable her home looked to a family who could have raised such an elegant woman such as Fleur. She had trailed after her for almost the entire afternoon the day before, had listened to her shriek at everyone for the tiniest imperfections and had awkwardly tried to console her when she nearly burst into tears when a photograph of Percy was knocked from the wall by Ron. She had been relieved to escape for a few hours.

'Where the bloody hell have you been?' demanded Ron when he and Cassy met on the stairs. His arms were full of bright orange bedsheets and a thick cobweb lay across his ginger hair. 'I thought you'd be back ages ago, at least so Mum wouldn't go quite as mental.'

'I have been gone two hours, Ron,' she said and squeezed around him.

'That's two hours of having Mum roar at us for not stopping you going,' he said. 'Ginny's been shut away in her room for arguing back, but Mum's failed to realise we'd actually want to be locked away.'

Ginny's room was small and had just enough space for a single sleeping bag if Cassy or Hermione were to stay the night. The window was wide open, a gentle breeze was welcomed inside and rustled the edges of the Hollyhead Harpies poster that had been displayed for years. The only disconcerting part of the otherwise peaceful image was the sight of Ginny hanging precariously out of her bedroom window with barely one foot in the frame.

'Hi, Cassy,' she greeted cheerfully while she struggled to look at her over her shoulder. 'I saw you coming up the pathway. I don't know what you said to Mum but I'm amazed she didn't drag you in by your toe.'

'What are you doing?' asked Cassy.

'Checking to see if I can actually hang up a banner I want to make,' she said. 'Oh, can you sew? Hermione said you probably can.'

'Did she now?' drawled Cassy. 'I had a few lessons on it, but it was never something I was interested in.'

'Can't remake the Black tapestry then?' she teased.

'Not in the slightest. I chose ballet over sowing.'

'But you can sew in a straight line?'

'A bit more than that, yes.'

'Excellent,' said Ginny and she hopped back inside. 'I want to make a sign saying "Beauty and the Phlegm". I'm kidding, honestly, just "Bill and Fleur Weasley" or something to make the outside look less plain.'

Ginny had a very basic understanding of sewing; Cassy would even wager that Hermione, who had proved her knitting skills to be absolutely awful, could sew better than her. Her stitches were uneven and the letters all ended up wonky, but, from a distance, it was difficult to tell and so neither bothered to undo it again, although Cassy did follow her around the cloth with another needle and thread to at least fill in the gaps she often left. There were peculiar looking flowers sewn into the corners with leave that Cassy shaped herself to form a boarder, the fresh green wool stood out against the deep purple of the cloth and made the golden stitches of the words even bolder than before.

It was lunch before anyone came inside to see what the two were doing. Mrs Weasley had seemingly given up on tasking Cassy with anything and during the meal she spoke very little towards the teenagers and instead focused her entire attention on Mr and Mrs Delecour who had arrived only an hour ago. Her husband sat at the opposite end of the table and raised his eyebrows.

'Still here then?' he said with mirth.

'Still here,' confirmed Cassy. She moved the light lunch around on the plate.

'Have you eaten at all today?' asked Arthur – he had told Cassy to call him by his given name after learning his wife had done the same; she was, after all, an adult in her own right and part of the same vigilante organisation. It seemed ridiculous to him to treat her as a child.

'Yes,' she lied.

He gave her a dubious look but did not argue. 'I have something to show you, actually, if you're not too busy pushing the pastry around.'

He nodded to the kitchen and Cassy followed him out and through a second door to the lean-to. A great space was cleared on one of the tables. Large pieces of twisted metal were littered across the floor beside, black and silver, dented and broken. The pieces trailed up to a large, mangled mess of what used to be a very beautiful motorcycle. Arthur patted the leather seat fondly.

'I collected all the pieces I could from the Tonks', the crash was awful but I think I'll be able to repair it and give it back when this is all over,' he said.

Cassy did not miss that he had failed to specify who he would be giving the motorcycle to. She toyed with the bent wing-mirror. 'Thank-you, Arthur.'

He sat himself down heavily on a nearby stool and gestured for Cassy to do the same. She sat upon a small stack of crates, her feet no longer able to touch the floor.

'I'm not going to try and stop you all from doing what Albus has asked you to do, but if you ever need anything, we will do our best to help you,' he said earnestly as he turned over a yellow rubber duck in his hands. 'Whatever it is, put your safety first. It will do no good to anyone if the four of you get yourselves killed, though I know you and Harry aren't very good at that.'

She gave him a small smile. 'What? Putting safety first or dying?'

'Both, by some miracle,' he said with a laugh.

Cassy had always liked Arthur Weasley. There was an easy-going air that always surrounded him and in the rare moments his eyes dimmed and his countenance grew grim he kept logical, grounded in his ideas and his fears in complete contrast to his wife. It had surprised her, however, when she' was told by one of the many Weasley children, that Arthur and Molly had taken a shine to her. She found it difficult to imagine why, knowing of the long-standing feud between Arthur and Lucius and how Molly could not stand Sirius' reckless behaviour, yet there she was, welcomed into their home even after she had disobeyed their largest rule and left without a word of notice in a very sensitive time. She had once thought the idea of their fondness of her would always keep surprising her but what shocked her more was the realisation it no longer did. There was a strange confidence she held in them that they would not leave her at her first unfavourable action, a confidence Cassy reserved for very few.

'I truly am sorry for being a bother,' she said. 'I know it's inconvenient to you both to have me here on top of everything else, but I cannot simply stop what I am doing to hide right now. I set myself a precedence and I think people really need to hear what I have to say.'

Arthur looked at her with a bright sparkle in his eye. He did not demand to know anything further and the two spoke for only a few minutes more, mostly about her father's motorcycle, before they returned to the living area.

Molly looked slightly overwhelmed as she conversed with the Delecours, anxiously trying to find common ground with Mrs Delecour who was not quite as easy-going as her short, stout husband. Arthur strode over to join their conversation while Cassy paused in the kitchen where her friends were tidying from lunch. They slunk out the back door and into the paddock far beyond the house, the laughter of Bill and Mr Delecour fading. It was not much more than a few hours of peace, but it was enough to simply be able to relax without the worry of being overheard or interrogated. Harry's broomstick was fetched from upstairs with a quick summoning charm; it soared through Ron's open window and straight into his waiting hands. It was equally as quickly decided that Harry had a horrendously unfair advantage on his broomstick compared to the Weasleys' old and battered ones. In the end, however, it made very little difference because Harry was simply better on a broom than Ginny or Ron, even if he did have to exchange it for Bill's old one.

By dinner time, Charlie had arrived from Romania. His freckled skin was tanned and his hair had grown long since Cassy had last seen him. Molly fussed over him and offered to cut it several times before the offer became a demand and she marched her son out to have his hair shaved short. Bill saluted him mournfully, though it only evoked a threat from Molly to do the same to him for his cheek. Fred and George appeared sometime after dinner to introduce themselves to the Delecours but did not stay too long as they had business to attend to. They both sent Cassy a wink before they vanished and she knew then they had become absorbed into helping Lee set up his radio station and were eager to return to it. The wink was not lost on the others and although Bill merely looked amused, Molly appeared suspicious.

It was barely eleven o'clock when they were all ushered off to bed. Arthur and Molly had set up a mattress in the living room after having insisted Mr and Mrs Delecour take their room. Fleur was to share with her sister and so Bill and Charlie shared as well in Percy's old bedroom. Cassy and Hermione had been given Fred and George's old bedroom as there was hardly enough room for them both in Ginny's, though Cassy had her suspicions that it was simply because it meant they were a floor closer to the master bedroom and there was a greater chance of hearing anything that might be said. With Fleur and Gabrielle in the room next door, no one risked a secret meeting that night; it only meant Cassy woke all the earlier the next morning.

She peeked around the bedroom door, her eyes assaulted by the bright orange walls before they landed on a long lump nestled on the bed. She poked her head in further to spy Harry fast asleep on the camping bed in the corner. She slipped into the room and crept over to Ron's bed. For a moment, she stared. It only took a minute before Ron seemed to sense the unwavering gaze and his blue eyes fluttered open only to yelp as he scrambled to pull the blankets further up around him.

'Bloody hell,' he hissed.

Cassy smirked and held up a book. He paled.

'Leave now or I'll show Ginny,' she said sweetly.

'You wouldn't dare!' he tried, but her smirk merely grew into a toothy, wild grin that had him scrambling from his bed before another word was said. He slammed the door behind him and a huff radiated through the hall beyond. Cassy set down the copy of _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_ back on his bedside table where she had found it. When she turned, she knew Harry was awake. One arm was flung over his eyes and a barely restrained grin tugged at his lips.

'Happy birthday,' she murmured, perched on the edge of his bed and only inches from his face. She kissed him tenderly before she leant away again and held up a small bundle of blue paper.

Still grinning, Harry sat up. His eyes were still slightly glazed from sleep and his hair was fluffier than normal, having been slept on wet to give new life to the always untameable black locks. He took the present with one hand while his other searched for his glasses. Only when they were perched on his nose did he pull the shining paper away to reveal a red ball of string.

'It doesn't look like much,' explained Cassy, taking the paper from him, 'but it's actually something called a "wanderer's lead". When you activate it, no one but the caster can see the string and it can stretch any distance. People used to use them for travelling or exploring, so they could always find their way home again by following the trail, but I thought it would be useful to keep track of things you need to keep an eye on.'

'Like you then,' he said cheekily.

Cassy half-heartedly hit him. 'Use it productively. Besides, I always come back around.'

He grinned. 'It's great, thanks.'

Before he could lean in for another kiss, Cassy shoved one final present under his nose.

'I made this. I cannot tell you what it does because I cannot allow others to find out, but everyone has one,' she said and handed him the silver ring. 'Keep it on you at all times.'

He turned the band over between his fingers. It was almost a stormy grey in colour with the exception of a crackling gold channel through the centre that made it appear as though a deep mine had been roughly unearthed within a quarry of dense stone. The golden vein reached right around the middle third and connected seamlessly. Curiously, he eyed Cassy's watch. It had been new and was the first time he had seen her wear gold, although it suited her well. The band was black and woven and the face black too with golden edging and golden hands. There were no numbers on the surface that sparkled faintly like the night sky, but she had insisted it did not matter.

He was pulled from his close inspected with a sharp jab to the forehead.

'Stop being so clever,' said Cassy, folding her arms and consequently hiding the watch from sight. 'As I said, we each have one.'

The ring was placed on his right-hand ring finger without a further word.

There was an overhanging weight on Cassy the moment she stepped downstairs beside Harry. Everyone greeted him with warm, beaming smiles of congratulations on coming of age; Arthur and Molly handed him a small present which unwrapped to show a watch. The leather was slightly marred and the back was somewhat scratched from where it had been put down night after night. It had been Molly's brother's and Harry wrapped his arms tightly around the small woman, whispering his thanks and warmly assuring her it was perfect.

Harry should not have got a watch from the Weasleys. They were not his family. The closest person to a parent Harry had was Sirius, Sirius who was not able to share in Harry's joy, to tell embarrassing stories and throw gifts at him like he had planned for months to make up for the years of his absence. Sirius had been ecstatic at the mere thought of that day, but he would never see it.

Cassy smiled brightly and dropped into conversation with Fleur and her sister over breakfast. She smiled brightly at lunch and smiled brightly as the doors to the Burrow opened to welcome more guests the moment the plates were cleared away. The grin slipped at the sight of Neville. She had not spoken to him since before they went to fetch Harry four days earlier, but it felt far longer. He hugged her tightly and she patted his back quickly before she pulled away.

'Are you alright?' he asked quietly.

'I'm fine,' she assured him, although she was not so sure whether it was the truth or not.

'And Harry?'

Cassy turned to look at Harry on the other side of the room. He was laughing with Charlie, who was gesticulating wildly. 'He's struggling a bit. He won't say it, but I can see it when the conversation drops.'

They had not discussed Sirius aloud, they had only reminded one another they were both thinking of him through brief, reassuring touches and lingering looks lost to everyone else. There were moments when his eyes would flicker down and his grin would slip, but Harry was clearly trying to enjoy himself. They both knew it would do little good to spend the day lamenting Sirius' absence, it would not make him reappear and if he happened to ever find out they spent the day moping then he would surely have strong words to say about their idiocy. Sirius had been so excited for Harry's birthday and Cassy was going to make sure he enjoyed it.

Hermione decorated the bushes outside the house with streamers while Fred and George hung lanterns by the light of the setting Sun. Cassy and Harry did a terrible imitation of a waltz to the loud tune Bill and Charlie sang, both looking haughty and all too serious for what was essentially strutting about on uneven ground whilst holding on to each other far too tightly in case the other shoved them into a bush accidentally. Molly let out a chortle at the sight of them and offered to get her radio for some proper music and Arthur insisted he had a new, better radio he had been modifying in the shed that was perfect for such an occasion.

When the tables were all set up in a long line beneath the white canopy rented for tomorrow's wedding, guests began to arrive. There were only a handful of people invited, mainly the Order of the Phoenix, but Harry stood to greet each of them himself anyway. As Arthur led the guests down the path from where they had apparated outside the gate, Molly exited the house with a giant cake hovering beside her. Perfectly round and glaringly golden, a Snitch cake set itself in the middle of the table with a large "17" candle protruding from the top.

'It's brilliant, Mrs Weasley,' praised Harry, beaming. Molly flushed and hugged him tightly.

'That's amazing,' said a voice behind them.

'Remus,' greeted Cassy. A great weight suddenly fell on her shoulders. Tonks wrapped her arms tightly around Cassy's front, squashing her back against her chest and weighing on her heavily. 'You're lucky my bruises are mostly gone by now.'

'Oh yeah, I totally forgot!' said Tonks and yet made no move to let go. 'I'm joking, I knew Molly would take good care of you.'

'Happy birthday, Harry,' said Remus and Tonks parroted it after him. He handed Harry a gift that was set upon a table with many others.

'I need to borrow you for a minute,' said Tonks. She pulled Cassy away from the men and over to a more distant corner of the canopy, just far enough to be out of earshot of any of the guests and still close enough not to appear suspicious. The placement was not lost on Cassy, who eyed her cousin curiously. Tonks shifted on the spot silently.

'Tonks,' Cassy prompted shortly.

'I'm pregnant,' she blurted.

It was Cassy's turn to be silent. She stared, eyes wide and mind uncomprehending. For a moment, she considered that she had heard it wrong and jumped to another conclusion altogether, however, the jittery shifting of Tonks' hands told her otherwise.

'Congratulations, I think?' she said slowly.

'What do you mean, "I think"?' asked Tonks with tightly pursed lips.

'Well, you don't look very happy about it.'

Tonks released a deep breath. 'I'm happy. I'm so excited, actually, but I don't know how to tell Remus. I don't – I don't know how he'll react. I want him to be happy, but I know he'll worry over his issue and I don't want to scare him off.'

'Remus won't leave you both,' said Cassy firmly. Remus valued those around him so highly she could not imagine him putting Tonks in such an awkward position to try and raise a child alone in a war, nor imagine him letting go of what little family he did have and yet there was a small voice in the back of her mind that said he could do just that if the fear struck him right. She hoped it would not. 'When are you going to tell him?'

'I don't know,' said Tonks, absently rubbing her flat stomach. 'I'm only about six weeks along, so it might not even last. I'll wait a bit and test the waters, see what he thinks before I figure out a way to say it.'

'Tonks,' said Cassy slowly and deliberately, 'if anything was to happen, if things do not go the way you hope, that child will always be my family.'

Tonks grinned so widely it looked as if it might hurt. She wrapped Cassy in another tight embrace and muttered grateful thank-yous in her ear before ushering them both back over to the party before anyone could think anything of their private conversation. Cassy tried to sideline her thoughts on her cousin being a mother yet they kept creeping into her mind. She tried hard not to envision pink-haired children dressed in black and flailing from where they would inevitably trip on something or another; sadly, that thought was not restricted to only the very young, Cassy had a hard time imagining any of Tonks and Remus' children at any age as being anything but lanky, clumsy, awkward human beings.

Her thoughts vanished the moment a silver weasel appeared above them and the garden fell silent.

Arthur's voice rang out: 'The Minister of Magic is here. I am bringing him with me now.'

'Sorry, Harry,' said Remus quickly as he and Tonks vanished with a crack. Their departure broke the still air and a chorus of muttering radiated through the tent. Mr and Mrs Delecour curiously asked if it was a normal occurrence for the Minister to arrive for birthdays and Hagrid, who was seated beside them, did not have a single kind word to utter about him in response. The group fell silent again when three heads appeared over the hedge.

Scrimgeour's tawny hair was streaked with grey, thinner and lankier than before. His face was drawn and it appeared as though his skin was now two times too large for his face as it hung wrinkled and loose where it had not before. Beside him was Percy. A tailored suit and carefully combed hair could not hide his awkwardness.

All anybody could do was stare.

* * *

 **Sorry for the delay. I've been really busy sorting out some stuff for my new job and they've had me covering someone else's extra duties for the last week, so I've been up early and home late.**

 **Anyway, we're still at the Weasleys' and this is a long but brief chapter, I suppose. Next is the will and the wedding and then we are out of here!**

 **Hope you liked it. Please let me know!**

 **Thanks!**


	9. Gifted to you

C. M. Black: Bones of a Doe

 **Chapter IX: Gifted to you**

'Were you particularly close to Albus Dumbledore, Mr Weasley?'

Ron stumbled over his answer. His stuttering only served to send Scrimgeour's sharp eyebrows low onto his brow, obscuring his narrow eyes and pulling his already tense muscles even tighter together.

'Dumbledore was very fond of you, Ron,' said Hermione confidently. She placed her hand on his back with great difficulty and sharp elbows from where she, Ron, and Harry were squashed onto a two-person sofa opposite Minister Scrimgeour. On her left was Neville, perched upon the worn arm, and on the other arm of the sofa was Cassy, her feet carefully positioned to remain off the upholstery although unable to touch the floor either.

To say that Dumbledore was fond of Ron was a stretch; the pair had never directly interacted and certainly never alone, so to say he was very fond of Ron was so much of a stretch that even the Minister could not entertain the idea for more than a second. He pulled a scroll from the bag beside him and Cassy pushed aside all thoughts of the curiousness of Ron's placement in Dumbledore's will in favour of absorbing every bit of information the unpleasant meeting was to offer her.

' _The Last Will and Testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_ ,' he read coldly. ' _To Mister Ronald Billius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator in the hope he will think of me when he uses it._ '

Scrimgeour pulled the second item from his bag and placed it on the small table between them. It was a small, rectangular object that resembled a cigarette lighter and was not much larger than one either. A silver lid and tip were the only decoration on the unassuming object and yet, Ron took it hesitantly.

'Give it a go, Mr Weasley,' said Scrimgeour lowly.

Ron glanced between Harry and Hermione for a second before he flipped open the lid and pressed down on the button with baited breath. There was a sudden flicker of light and the nearby lamps turned dark while the Deluminator turned bright. The tiny, protruding mound where the flame would have been on an ordinary lighter gave a faint glimmer of stolen brightness. When Ron flicked the button again, the orbs of light popped out afresh and zoomed back over to their original places.

Nothing exciting happened – although Cassy felt the sudden need to try and deconstruct the device herself – and Scrimgeour was forced to move on with nothing more than a tight squint. 'Next, _to Miss Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my copy of_ The Tales of the Beedle and the Bard _, in hope she will find it entertaining and instructive.'_

The binding was tatty and bent, the coloured cover was peeling away from the thick paper beneath. The spine was riddled with cracks that rendered the title almost unreadable. A splash of a tear hit the worn cover and Hermione gave a great sniff in a vain attempt to hold back more.

'Why would Dumbledore leave you that book, Miss Granger?' asked Scrimgeour with his focus fixed carefully on her crumpled face.

'H-He knew I liked books,' she wept.

'Did you ever discuss codes?'

'N-No,' said Hermione firmly. 'If the Ministry couldn't find anything within thirty-days then I doubt I will either!'

It was a last attempt to extract any information at all from the items Dumbledore had left behind. Although Scrimgeour had said many of his personal items had been left to Hogwarts, Cassy knew better than to assume that was where they had remained. The Ministry of Magic had held onto his belongings for as long as possible, desperate to find any reason they should not be handed over, but they had ultimately failed. There had been nothing suspicious in them and so they could not keep them. All Scrimgeour wanted now was to discern exactly why five teenagers had been left something in the will of the greatest wizard of the century and his patience was evidentially wearing thin with no clues from them at all. Although, Cassy mused, it was hardly as if they themselves knew what the items were to mean.

'Next,' Scrimgeour announced again, his lips pressed tight, ' _to Mister Neville Frank Longbottom, I leave my hand mirror, may he find guidance in its gaze as I often have.'_

Neville blinked and took the mirror with tentative hands. Awkwardly, he peered into the dusty depths.

'It's broken,' he said when he pulled back the hem of his shirt to find none of the clouding had eased with a hard scrub.

'That was how we received it,' said Scrimgeour.

Neville frowned and traced a crack up the centre of the surface. It was a small mirror with a white, ornate handle, though it looked more like something a witch might own in the modern day. There was no inscription on the back, though there was clearly space for one, which gave Cassy no clue as to what it meant or where Dumbledore had even acquired it in the first place.

'Moving on,' said Scrimgeour with his eyes now shifted to Cassy. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, he reached into his bag and pulled forth a smaller velvet one. Unlacing it, he tipped the contents from it with a soft rattle. A silver chain slithered out with a heavy pendant smacking into his withered palm. ' _To Lady Cassiopeia Marilyn Black, I leave my treasured necklace in reminder of the strength required and the reward gained from being true to one's self.'_

Cassy held out her hand. The chain was long and thin, the loops uneven, possibly hand-crafted. The pendant itself was far too dense to be simple silver despite its appearance. On the surface were what looked like runes, though none Cassy had learnt in school. No, she knew she had seen them somewhere before though, she could just not quite place where. There was a slight thrill inside her at that. She had an inkling for meaning. Whatever was written on the surface was something she had certainly seen before, all she needed to do was dig it up from the recesses of her mind. It was finally a clue that made a little sense. In the very centre of the surface was a little ornate carving that looked more like a transfiguration circle than mere decoration, but if that had been the case she very much doubted she would have received it at all.

'Do you recognise it, Lady Black?' asked Scrimgeour keenly.

Slowly, Cassy nodded her head as she turned the item over in her hands. 'Albus often wore it. He only ever said it kept him grounded.'

It was a lie. Cassy had never seen such a necklace before, but she was not about to admit that to the Minister of Magic when he was already looking for a reason to haul them all in for questioning.

'Where did the necklace come from, Lady Black?' he asked.

'I have not the faintest idea,' she answered lightly. 'I tend to keep myself out of business that does not concern me.' She smiled wryly at him and was rewarded with a twitch of his eye and a slow grind of his teeth.

'No idea at all?' he pressed. 'He must have left it to you for a reason, especially given his words.'

'Minister, my family has a terrible history in these sorts of situations. My great, great uncle was arrested three times for beheading various muggles and stringing their body parts up within the trees outside his house. If Albus wanted me to remember anything in my life, I am sure it is to not take the opportunity to follow my ancestors' leads,' she said plainly.

'You call him Albus,' he commented.

Cassy had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes and huffing loudly. 'You know I do. You also know I worked with him on my speeches and that he and I spoke often of my goals. You asked me about it enough.' She cocked her head to one side. 'What is this about, Minister? What do you expect to find today?'

'I am the one asking the questions,' he said gruffly. He reached into the bag and pulled forth one final object that he held tightly in his fists and out of sight. 'Finally, _to Mister Harry James Potter, I leave the Snitch he caught in his very first Quidditch match and Hogwarts, as a reminder of perseverance and skill.'_

Harry visibly deflated and Cassy could not help but feel somewhat let down as well. A Snitch was not a clue as to how they were to find the Horcruxes. It was a lovely little sentiment that had they not been about to embark on a dangerous mission with only the vague guidance from a dead man to aid them then it might have been rather sweet, but as it was, it left Cassy more than a little frustrated.

'Why would he leave you the Snitch?' asked Scrimgeour.

Harry shrugged and said, 'For whatever reasons he stated, I guess.'

Scrimgeour continued, completely undeterred by Harry's disinterest, 'Snitches are excellent places to hide small objects. Do you know why, Mr Potter?'

Before Harry could retort in what Cassy was sure would be cleverly sarcastic, Hermione spoke, unable as she had been at eleven-years-old to fail to answer a question.

'They have flesh memories,' she said.

Everyone turned to her. Hermione, who barely possessed any more interest in Quidditch than Cassy did, knew that Snitches were created to imprint the first person to touch them to their memory. Cassy supposed it had come about to stop disputes in official games, but she had not known the fact herself. Her interest in the sport was so painfully low that all of her knowledge had come from Harry's monologues or later from Ginny and Ron.

'Correct,' said Scrimgeour slowly. 'You see, Mr Potter, Snitches are designed to remember one person's touch alone. Even their makers do not touch them without gloves. A man as skilled as Dumbledore would easily have been able to charm this Snitch to open at your touch and your touch alone.'

Cassy tried not to frown. She remembered his first match vividly, particularly the part where he had tumbled from his broomstick and heaved into his hands. Harry had almost swallowed it, so did that mean he had to put it in his mouth to open it, or was all flesh the same to it?

Gingerly, Harry reached across towards Scrimgeour's uncurling fingers. In his palm was a tiny, golden ball with white wings that lay limp beside it. He hesitated for only a second before he plucked the ball up. Nothing happened.

'Anticlimactic,' announced Harry and Hermione snorted loudly.

'See, there's nothing dangerous in these items. You've wasted your time,' said Hermione, arms firmly crossed across her chest.

'Watch your tone, Miss Granger. I am the Minister of Magic, given the current climate, one would think you would be more inclined to have support,' Scrimgeour said lowly.

This time, Harry scoffed. 'The Ministry is wasting its time covering up things rather than dealing with them. Where are all the reports on the murders, the missing people? I know for a fact an entire village was burnt to the ground only a few weeks ago and it's not been mentioned in The Daily Prophet even once.'

Scrimgeour lips curled into a crinkled snarl, his eyes burning with words he clearly longed to say but held back out of forced professionalism. The Will was crumpled in his fist and yet he did not yet put it away.

'Dumbledore left you one final thing, Potter,' he said, 'The sword of Godric Gryffindor.'

There was no movement to pull it from the little leather bag. It was not within sight and therefore not within reach. Harry questioned this suspiciously, but Scrimgeour simply changed his tone factual as if giving a business report a new sales pitch.

'The sword is not Dumbledore's to give, despite what he may have decided,' he said, ignoring Hermione's shrill interjections that the sword had chosen Harry all those years ago. 'It is an item of heritage and therefore belongs to the school and is said to appear before any worthy Gryffindor, therefore it cannot be given to Mr Potter. Why do you -'

'Why do I think Dumbledore left me the sword? I don't know, maybe he thought it'd look good on my wall,' he drawled, throwing his hands into the air.

Scrimgeour began to snarl once more.

'Is this honestly what you've been doing with your time? Stripping down items and covering up murders? Do you even know there have been break-outs from Azkaban again this month? Or do you just not care?' continued Harry. His voice rose in volume as he spoke, every word more accusing that the last until at last he and the Minister were both on their feet. Scrimgeour had his wand pointed at Harry's chest where a small ring of fabric was burning away. If it was seering Harry's skin, he did not let it show.

Everyone was then on their feet too, with Cassy's hands tightly keeping Harry's at his side in case he was tempted to reach for his wand in return.

'Enough!' bellowed Scrimgeour. 'Hold your tongue, Potter. You're not in school anymore and I will not tolerate you wearing that scar like a crown; you are not immune.'

Harry's arm flexed beneath Cassy's grip, desperate to retaliate.

'It is not up to a seventeen-year-old boy to tell me how to do my job. You need to learn a little respect,' continued Scrimgeour with his face pressed dangerously close to Harry's. Cassy thought had it been her and had Scrimgeour not been the Minister of Magic, she very much would have leant forward and headbutted him with everything she had.

There was a thundering of footsteps.

'It's about time you earnt it,' replied Harry coldly.

The door opened with a tremendous clatter. Arthur and Molly stood uncertain and tense in the narrow frame, their eyes darted from Harry to Scrimgeour before fluttering down to the wand pressed against Harry's chest in alarm.

It only took a moment for the fury in Scrimgeour's face to twist into hard stone carved with a mild edge of regret. His eyes still blazed with anger, but his wand lowered and his lips were drawn down as though forcing himself to appear remorseful.

'We should not be fighting, Mr Potter. I want what you want, what Dumbledore wanted. We should be working together,' he said.

Harry held up his hand to reveal the white lines of writing that would forever mar his skin. 'I'm afraid I don't like the Ministry's methods, Sir.'

Cassy discreetly peered at the slanted and looped scars on her own hand. Then, she looked back at the necklace Albus had left her.

She looked up just in time to see Scrimgeour storm out the door.

A tense silence followed and Cassy inspected the red mark on Harry's chest carefully. Deciding the burn was only minor, she flicked her wand to repair the shirt before they were all ushered outside so the guests could eat before the Sun fully set. It was with magnificent streaks of orange in the sky that the meal finally drew to an abrupt close. A heavy air of uncertainty settled amongst all present when Scrimgeour arrived and it failed to be moved once he had left. It hung over the entire meal and with everyone curious as to just what he had wanted, there was little that could be said or done to resume the cheerful celebration they had had before.

Harry did not seem to mind in the slightest. He was focused on the Snitch, which hovered not more than two feet from him at all times. While Cassy longed to lean over and tell him why it had not revealed anything at his touch, she could not risk it. Although everyone else was keen to pass around the items they had been given, she kept hers out of sight and out of the minds of everyone there. It was an old paranoia, something she supposed she had grown up with, that until she was certain of what she was dealing with, of whom she had around her also, that she would not reveal any secrets, not even something as seemingly trivial as an old necklace. Neither did she approve of the others parading their items around and passing them to whomever reached for them, but it was Harry's birthday and she loathed to make it any more awkward than it was, and was equally not keen to offend anyone when everyone present was already given the heavy responsibility of keeping Harry's location safe.

She did not manage to speak to anyone much after dinner. Even when they had all packed the table and chairs away, taken down the streamers and balloons, and taken his presents inside, they were not allowed more than a few feet out of sight of Molly. It was not a mystery why. Although she had relaxed some of her rules for Harry's birthday, they had been reinstated with vengeance following the reading of Albus' Will. Not only had Cassy, Harry, Neville, and Hermione been given mysterious objects, but Ron, who was not supposed to be involved in their little excursion, had been too; worry was working her mind more intensely than ever before.

Cassy pondered it as she lay in bed. It seemed peculiar that Ron, who had not been particularly involved in their misadventures before would be gifted a special item by Albus. A thought churned in her mind that perhaps it was a hint, one final clue for them that they really needed to bring him along with them, that Albus saw some larger part for Ron to play in everything. She thought of the Deluminator. It was a curious object with a handful of uses, but she did not see the greater purpose. She could not think of a time where he would have anticipated they would need light collected that would be so pivotal to their journey. Yet, she could also not see why she had been given a necklace with obscure markings in the hope it made her remember herself. It was almost insulting, though she tried to squash the feeling, that Albus thought she would need to be told who she was. She had wavered just once, just once when Alphard had died and Sirius had sprouted up into her life with bright eyes and unusual warmth, but she had come back from it stronger than ever before, so the feeling of annoyance was something she could not quite shake.

Despite having spent far too long inspecting the necklace that night, when morning came, Cassy was up and out of bed before the rooster could even begin its call. She threw open Ron's door noisily. It reverberated off the wall and sent him into a startled tumble that nearly had him toppling out of bed. Behind her, Hermione giggled.

'Out,' ordered Cassy, hands on her hips. The intimidation it usually bore was lessened by the fact that her short hair stuck out at odd angles and hung in her face, but nevertheless, Ron shuffled from his own bedroom with little more than a huff.

She and Hermione climbed on top of the newly vacated bed while Harry and Neville rubbed at their eyes and shifted in their blankets in half-hearted attempts to make it appear as though the girls had their attention. Sluggishly, Harry pulled the Snitch out from under his pillow and threw it towards Cassy.

'I figured out why nothing happened when I touched it,' he said, stifling a yawn. 'I didn't catch it with my hand, I caught it with my mouth.'

Cassy nodded and Hermione's eyes lit up. The Snitch was turned carefully between her fingers until she spotted a small set of words:

 _I open at the close_

'Fantastic,' said Cassy. 'What close?'

'The end of the war?' guessed Hermione thoughtfully.

'The end of my life?' offered Harry sardonically.

'What about yours, Neville?' asked Hermione.

He passed her his dusty mirror with mournful eyes. 'It doesn't show anything.'

Hermione raised it to her face and rubbed at it with the sleeve of her pyjamas. 'I see myself, it's just a little bit blurred at the edges.'

Neville frowned and heaved himself up to sitting.

'I can see myself,' said Cassy when the mirror was passed to her next. 'It's absolutely fine.' She angled the mirror differently, but saw no change in her reflection.

Harry frowned into it when it was his turn. Half his vision was clear but blurry speckles were dotted over his face as if a light dusting of summer rain. 'What do you think it does?'

No one had an answer. They did not have an answer for what the necklace could mean, nor the book of children's stories Hermione had been given. Gryffindor's sword was another mystery to them, though if it was going to defeat Voldemort simply because of being goblin made then his downfall would be simple for Cassy had two goblin forged daggers in her bag downstairs; however, they all sadly knew that was not the case.

Hermione breathed in deeply. 'I think we should leave tonight, during the reception. The longer we stay the harder it's going to be to leave.'

Everyone agreed, though no one asked where they were to go. It was an agreement that until they were there, no one would ask. They would take turns deciding on a location, whoever had a good idea, and no one else would know before they arrived. It was a safety measure Cassy insisted upon. It was met with Harry's frustration but she refused to give up on it. It made sense, she reasoned, for if any of them were captured then they could not be forced to reveal the location, or even endanger the others by suggesting where they were most likely to be. Harry hated that idea. Neville did too, but this time there was no storming away and no doors slammed; he simply nodded gravely and accepted her plan.

Although it appeared as if an argument might break out between Cassy and Harry at her pessimism and caution, they were called away by Molly before anything could really come of it. They were then rushed away from breakfast the moment their plates were empty so they could be cleaned and out of the way as the wedding crockery piled up on the sides, large plates, small dishes, long trays, and tiny bowls, all matching and all gleaming. The silverware was being polished for the third time that week and all the wine glasses were stacked in a tall pyramid by Fred and George. There was a rush of setting up the garden with streamers, flowers, and chairs despite having almost all day to prepare. There was always something more that they needed, something that did not go quite to plan, and collecting the chickens back into their coops were the cause of at least five of the near-breakdowns Molly and Arthur faced.

It was only because of the many pairs of available hands that everything went to schedule. The caterers appeared early with trays and trays of delicately made food, some of it British and some of it French. Musical instruments were being transported through the Floo network one at a time and their stoic faced players filed in to shake Arthur's hand. Meanwhile upstairs, Cassy knocked lightly on Ginny's bedroom door. She was already wearing her dress, it extended to mid-calf and was coloured with many mottled shades of red that formed blooming flowers on the skirt and faded into a pink at the top. She adjusted the low dipped neckline when a muffled voice called for her to enter.

Ginny was wearing a pale gold dress.

'That's quite nice, actually. You made it sound revolting,' said Cassy as she strode over to Ginny's mirror.

'It's nicer on than I thought it'd be,' admitted Ginny. Her hair was loose around her shoulders as usual, but had a slight twirl to it now.

A knock sounded on the door again and Hermione poked her head inside.

'Ginny, that's a lovely dress!' she said and looked her up and down. 'I don't know what you were so worried about.'

'You've been at the _Sleek Easy_ again,' replied Ginny as she eyed Hermione's straight, flat hair. 'How many bottles was it this time?'

'Three,' sighed Hermione. She turned then to Cassy. 'I was told to tell you that Harry is about to Polyjuice into a chubby, ginger Muggle from the next village. Fred assured me he'll look dashing.'

Ginny snorted.

Cassy pushed the last pin into her Chignon knot and pushed away from the mirror. 'I suppose I better go and see before one of your brothers has the _wonderful_ idea of getting him stuck like that forever.'

'Remember him for who he was and forgive who he has become,' called Ginny.

Cassy huffed a laugh as she climbed the stairs to the very top floor of the house. With a thunderous bang, she threw open Ron's door and revelled in the very high, very loud shriek it evoked.

'Will you stop doing that!' he cried, despite being very much dressed this time.

'Oh, is Harry not here,' she said airily with a disappointed frown on her face.

'You know he's not, you witch! You do this on purpose!'

With a dramatic sigh, Cassy threw her hands onto her hips and turned on the spot, her dress flurrying around her and her heeled shoes clicking on the bare floorboards. 'I suppose I will have to look elsewhere.'

'Cassy, at least shut the bloody door,' shouted Ron, but she did not and even from a flight downstairs she heard him huff. She laughed to herself and was still smiling when she emerged into the living room, which was already crowded with multiple Weasleys and several new Frenchmen she had never seen before. It was not difficult to spot Harry amongst the hoard of red and yellow hair, his black locks still stubbornly poking out in every direction. He was beside Tonks and Remus, who had arrived earlier to help finish setting up the venue, although Cassy had not had the opportunity to greet either of them yet.

'Good afternoon,' she said before Tonks tripped on the table leg on her way over to her. She raised her arms to steady her, but Remus' hand was already around his wife's bicep and stabilised her without so much as blinking in her direction.

Cassy felt a sudden rush of affection.

Tonks hugged her tightly as usual and Cassy gave her a fierce hug in return; it sent Tonks visibly reeling.

'What was that for?' she asked, grinning.

'No reason,' said Cassy dismissively and her attention turned to Harry quickly. 'Is Neville here yet?'

'Yeah, he's taking pictures in the garden,' he replied.

'Good, the potion can wait then. I want photographs of everyone,' she said.

Harry called for Neville out the door and they were both urged outside by his waving hand and beaming smile. He turned and snapped a photograph as the wind pulled at their hair with ghostly fingers and the purple balloons ruffled behind them. Cassy took the camera from his hands and took a photograph of the boys; she took another when Hermione appeared and Neville grabbed the camera back only to drop it when hands sneaked up onto his shoulders and a quick kiss was pressed to his cheek. He twirled to face Luna, blushing, and she smiled broadly with twinkling eyes.

'Hello, everyone,' she said, her hands laced in front of her bright yellow dress. In her hair was a large sunflower, very much real and already having attracted several bees.

Harry then took a photograph of the two together, chuckling when Neville dared to put his hand around Luna's waist with nervous eyes.

When Ginny finally tore herself away from her fussing mother, and when the guests had begun to fill the carefully aligned seats, Remus held the camera and ushered Cassy, Harry, Neville, Hermione, Ginny, and Luna into a tight huddle in front of the colourful flowers that climbed the Burrow's white walls. They all smiled brightly, broadly, with arms touching and fancy attire proudly on display. Tonks pulled a face and mimed something obscene behind Remus' back that sent Harry and Ginny into reams of laughter After a small churning of the film, a small square slipped out of the slot at the base. Their photograph selves waved up at them, looking every bit as bold and joyous as they were then and there.

Cassy's heart dropped a little. Sirius would have been the one to take the photograph if he had been there, there would have been one of him and her, him dressed in his sharp, black suit that was still hung up on his bedroom door,

Harry was ushered back inside and a potion was forced into his hands as the guests really began to pour inside. Although Bill and Fleur trusted everyone invited, the Order of the Phoenix were unwilling to take any risks on Harry's safety.

Cassy peered around the filling venue. Fred and George rushed past to escort a group of willowy, silver-haired Veela cousins, while Mr Weasley waved Hagrid away from where he had already broken several chairs and back towards a sturdy looking bench on the back row. Ron shuffled up the pathway from the gate, reluctantly escorting an elderly woman over a bumpy bit of ground.

'Your hair is much too long, Ronald,' said the woman and gave Ron's hair a sharp tug with her free hand. 'I thought you were Genevra for a minute. Where's Harry Potter? I thought you were friends with him, or have you just been making things up again?'

Ron flushed. 'No, he couldn't come.'

'Ah, he's not as gormless as he looks in the photographs then. That's a pity, I wanted to meet him.' She then turned locked her eyes on Cassy who still lingered at the edge of the house. She looked her up and down with sharp brown eyes before her lips pressed into a thin line, pulling a century's worth of wrinkles taught in a rather unfriendly manner. 'You must be Cassiopeia Black.'

'I am,' said Cassy simply while she made a much more subtle sweep of the woman's appearance. 'You must be Ron's great-aunt Murial.'

'I am,' she parroted back. 'I sure hope there is more to you than meets the eye, girly, because those looks will fade and if there's nothing up there then people will stop listening to you one day soon.'

Ron cringed. 'Cassy's insanely intelligent. Scarily, actually.'

'Compared to you I'm sure she is,' said his aunt Murial flippantly.

Cassy frowned and Ron quickly ushered the woman along, only to turn over his shoulder and mouthed "I'm sorry" back to Cassy. She wanted to march up to them and tell her that Ron was not stupid and for all his jokes and lack of attention, he had good instincts and that she valued him as a friend; however, she was not willing to cause an issue with the family, not when she was very much aware that Molly was still upset with her for wandering off to see Fred and George only a few days prior, nor did she want an argument to loom over the wedding as she was certain a woman like Muriel would see to it that it would, given half a chance to embellish herself.

Her lips were pursed when a short and stout man appeared beside her. He appeared around her age, though his round face made him look possibly several years younger. His skin was smothered in freckles, even his lips had dark little splodges.

'Sorry,' she said, 'you are not my type.'

'Don't flatter yourself,' snorted Harry. 'I could get anyone looking like this.'

She laughed. 'According to Ginny's aunt Muriel, you will move on soon enough once I am old and grey.'

'Nice,' said Harry. 'Can't wait.'

Hermione appeared again, looking quite dazed after having escorted Luna and her father to their seats, no doubt having had to listen to stories of Wrackspurts and Nargles all the way. She folded her arms when Ron came back around to collect the next set of guests. He paused.

'Hermione, you look great!' he exclaimed.

'Always the tone of surprise,' she said, smiling. 'Although, your aunt would disagree with you. She said I had bad posture and skinny ankles.'

'Ignore her. She insults everyone,' said Ron. His face suddenly dropped.

Curiously, Cassy followed his gaze. A wolfish grin threatened to break out across her cheeks at the sight of a familiar short-haired man in a dark suit with broad shoulders and well-kept stubble. Viktor Krum had been invited and from the look on Ron's face, his school-boy admiration for the star sportsman had vanished. Krum caught Hermione's eye and she greeted him breathlessly, caught utterly off guard by his presence but Krum smiled down at her like he did when she was fourteen and he had been competing for a world-recognised title.

It was only the beginning of Ron's sharp growl that Cassy managed to catch before she was ushered away by Molly and the others were called to seat themselves quickly. She was pulled towards the front of the marque and seated in front of a grand, white piano that she had no idea how the family had managed to afford. Behind her were the band, though their instruments lay flat and their music books closed.

'Are you ready? Is this what you need?' asked Molly frantically.

'Yes, Molly, everything is fine,' she said. She tapped the gleaming keys experimentally, their ringing notes hushing the crowd. She quickly read over the first line of the music, the song she had been asked to write and perform for Bill and Fleur. She peered over the top of the piano towards Bill; Charlie was fixing his tie and they both turned and gave her an animated thumbs-up when he finally stepped away. With a deep breath, she began to play.

The tune was not as soft and delicate as she had originally intending it to be, such a sound did not suit the pair. Yet, it seemed to play perfectly with the radiant image of Fleur in a

simple, white dress with Ginny and Gabrielle standing behind her with purple flowers clutched in their hands. Cassy stayed sitting at the piano as the service continued, as they made their vows and exchanged their rings. Like the rest, she clapped when the two fell into a passionate kiss, one she considered rather inappropriate for public, especially when one's entire family was watching, but the crowd of friends and family merely cheered and whistled before everyone separated to claim a table.

It was then that she finally spotted Tonks alone beside a full and colourful table of drinks. Her dress was her favourite bubblegum pink and her hair was a dark-brown that made her resemblance to her mother much acuter.

'Looking for something non-alcoholic?' she teased lowly.

Tonks turned and gave her a withering look. Her desire for French wine was being squashed by the knowledge she was pregnant and inside she forced herself to pour a glass of some chilled apple drink that proved popular with the young French children. Cassy remained speaking to her cousin for some time, keenly ignoring the bustle around her. Had it not been for Harry's presence and the Order of the Phoenix's protection around the venue, she would not have been invited at all and so felt no great need to mingle with the other guests. Remus joined them shortly after, having only gone to retrieve a plate of food for his ravenous wife. He watched in bemusement as she cleaned the dish in less than a minute and still did not seem quite sated. Cassy stifled a laugh at his lost and alarmed face and pretended to look just as confused as he did.

She was jeering at Remus to dance will Tonks – he firmly refused and after having seen him dance at his own wedding Cassy could see why – when a person in bright yellow appeared at their side, drink in hand and drifting eyes foreign yet familiar.

'Mr Lovegood,' greeted Cassy. She had only met the man briefly before, but she clearly recalled his face, just as peculiar in personality as his daughter, though not quite as friendly nor as charming.

He ducked his head back at her as his grey eyes roamed up to Tonks' hair. He smiled. 'Have you got a nasty infection? A bite from a bloating Beetle, perhaps?'

Tonks frowned. 'No. I'm a Metamorphagus.' Her hair changed from the glorious and eye-catching green back to its dark brown.

'Oh, that's a shame,' sighed Lovegood.

Tonks squinted at him and Cassy did the same, though her attention was no longer on his face, but on a piece of silver hung around his neck.

'Why do you wear Grindelwald's mark?' asked Cassy suddenly, scandalised.

He turned to her and huffed heavily. 'They said you were smart. It's not the sign of Grindlewald, it's the sign of the Deathly Hallows.'

Then, he stalked away and Cassy was quite glad to see the back of him.

'The what?' she asked dully, but both Tonks and Remus shrugged and exchanged looks of doubt at Lovegood's sense.

It was only a moment later that Luna skipped up to them, her hands looped behind her back in a childish pose. She asked why her father was cross, but Cassy could not honestly answer. She had little idea what he thought the symbol meant, a circle inside a triangle with a straight line through the verticle centre of both; it was iconic to Grindlewald, it very much belonged to the man who had tried to precede Voldemort in taking witches and wizards out of hiding and suppressing the Muggles in return. For a moment, Cassy considered asking Luna what she thought it meant, but thought better of it in favour of not opening that dialogue. She did not want to offend her because she had seen how protective Luna was of her only remaining parent and bringing up how bizarre her father's attire was would not be swallowed favourably, not when she had just accused him of wearing the mark of a Dark Lord.

Instead, Cassy merely diverted the conversation and followed Luna back to the table where her friends had gathered. Ginny was missing, to which she was quickly informed she had gone dancing with Krum.

'You should be happy, Ron,' said Cassy, leaning towards him to mutter in his ear. 'He's left Hermione alone.'

'I don't want him going after my sister either!' he cried. 'He's too old for her.'

'Yet they both like Quidditch and Ginny does dream of making it to the leagues one day,' continued Cassy in a false, wistful voice. 'They might be good for each other.'

'No,' snapped Ron and Cassy burst into giggles.

Time passed surprisingly quickly. The event was unlike any wedding Cassy had previously attended; there was a sense of joy in the air opposed to pride. People drank and ate as they pleased, they spoke to who they wanted and danced with whoever was there. The only weight on the evening was the knowledge that Sirius was not there. No matter how much Cassy attempted to enjoy the night fully, a dull voice in the back of her mind always reminded her not to laugh too hard and not to smile too wide: Sirius was gone.

The longer the party continued, the louder and loathsome the voice became. Her hands itched. A restlessness burnt through her veins as she tried to listen to Neville's story, but she could not. She could hardly sit still and her mind began to wander back to her father again and again. It was so wrong to be celebrating when she knew he should have been there too. He should have had a photograph with her, with Harry, he had been excitedly awaiting the song she had written, and he would have shaken sense into his best friend without a second thought at the first sign of Tonks' concerns.

She wanted to leave. She looked around for her friends and found that Hermione was dancing again with Ron, and Harry was talking to an elderly man and Ms Prewett. Neville sat with her at the table, awkwardly retelling a story to Krum who had followed Ginny back from the dance floor. Beyond all of them, Luna was dancing with her father, her hands in the air as though batting away tiny, persistent flies.

She would have to wait.

Then, everything fell silent. Voices hushed and the band drew to a screeching stop. A silver lynx stood in the centre of the head table and Kingsley's voice bellowed out.

'Rufus Scrimgeour is dead. The Ministry has fallen. Death Eaters are on their way.'

A cacophony of sound erupted all around them. Cassy threw her arm to Neville, who reached out and grabbed Hermione's. In turn, she outstretched her hand to Harry, their fingertips locked tightly for only a moment before the world swirled away from them and flickers of roaring fire was the last thing they saw of the Burrow.

* * *

 **Okay, so this probably took longer to get out than any chapter has ever before. I've had this written up for ages, it's just the ones further on I'm struggling with. The problem with the seventh book is that in places it gets difficult to implement change simply because not a lot actually happens. Then, when I do try something out, it doesn't quite feel right and so I've spent a very, very long time on a chapter later on that I still hate** **. However, things are just going to have to be how they end up because there are certainly going to be parts of it I don't like and probably never will! I think once I've got passed the Ministry of Magic bit then things should be a lot simpler because there is a lot more room for swapping around the timeline and introducing new events.**

 ****

 **Hopefully, the next chapter s** **hould be out at a more reasonable time.**

 **Let me know what you think.**

 **Thanks!**


	10. London Calling

**C. M. Black: Bones of a Doe**

Chapter X: London Calling

' _London?_ ' said Cassy, scandalised.

The four of them stood in the centre of a bustling street. Although the sun had long since set and the moon was high above them, there were only streaks of darkness, shaded corners and black alleyways where the blinding lights of the store fronts and street lights could not penetrate. They were completely in the open.

'Open is better, there are fewer chances to be overheard and fewer chances of an open attack,' said Hermione, somewhat breathless. She threw the Invisibility Cloak over Harry.

'London, Hermione, is the worst place to be. Do you know how many of our kind live in London?' snapped Cassy.

They pushed through the crowds along Tottenham Court Road and ignored the stares and silent questions as to why three teenagers were dressed in formal and fancy clothes in the middle of the night. Neville took off his bow-tie and suit jacket in an attempt to look less out of place, but there was little that could be done for Cassy and Hermione in their dresses and carefully styled hairs. There was no set destination besides remaining in sight of as many people as possible; Hermione marched ahead as the guide, though Cassy scowled deeply at the back of her head the entire time.

'This is a terrible idea, Hermione, they are not going to care if there are Muggles about. The Ministry has fallen, there is literally no repercussions for breaking the secrecy law anymore,' she said when they turned onto a wide street that was lined with parked cars and neon signs with flickering, broken letters. 'That is literally how my mother found out about my father, she just happened to be about when Death Eaters attacked and they certainly did not care then either.'

Hermione looked back at her for the first time. She was silent for a second before she scowled straight back at her. 'Where do you suppose we go then, if you're so clever?'

'Anywhere but here!'

'Stop!' cried Neville. 'We need to figure out what's going on.'

'We can't go towards Diagon Alley, it's far too dangerous,' said Hermione swiftly.

'We're drawing attention to ourselves,' came Harry's low, unimpressed voice. 'Let's find somewhere off the streets to think. We should still have some time before Voldemort finds out we're not still at the wedding.'

Both Cassy and Hermione gave a deep sigh yet followed Neville's pointed finger towards a shoddy, little diner with a dull sign that read: _Luchino Caffe_. A bell rang overhead when they entered and gained little more than a glance from the waitress behind the till. When they were all seated, the young woman sauntered over to them, pen and paper in hand, whilst noisily chewing on a bright pink stick of gum.

'Orders?' she questioned in a lazy, nasally tone.

'Erm,' stumbled Hermione, 'three coffees.'

The waitress looked at her for a moment and Hermione cringed at the realisation there must have been a dozen different types of coffee on the menu. There were no further questions, though, and the four of them were left alone again without another word. She did, however, look them each up and down over her shoulder the moment the noisy coffee machine began to whir as if the sound blocked out any action she did next.

'We look terribly out of place,' hissed Cassy.

'Will you just be quiet?' snapped Hermione. 'If you have nothing useful to say then don't say anything!'

The machine was still screeching when the bell rang behind them and two men entered the cafe. They waved away the waitress, who looked both annoyed and relieved, and settled into their seats in silence. They were both tall, dressed in dark clothes with bright reflective jackets on and with their hands folded across the table in towards themselves.

'We need to head out to the country like we planned,' whispered Cassy after the waitress had dropped three cups of grey, foaming coffee at their table.

'We'll find somewhere quiet to Disapparate,' agreed Hermione reluctantly, 'I've got the tent.'

'We should pay for this and get out of here,' said Neville, his face twisted at the mere sight of the drink.

'I've got some change in my bag somewhere, but I bet it's all sunk to the bottom,' muttered Hermione.

Cassy turned her gaze back to the two workmen squeezed in a booth on the opposite side of the cafe. A hand vanished inside each of their thin jackets.

'Harry,' whispered Cassy.

'I know,' he breathed back.

Neville looked between them and then turned to follow Cassy's stare. The moment his eyes met theirs, the cloak was thrown from Harry's shoulders and the men turned with wands in hand and curses upon their lips.

Hermione squeaked as Neville threw himself over her; the wall behind them ripped apart, sending red tile scattering onto their clothes and hair. She fumbled for her wand, her arm already deep in her bag in search of money, and slipped from the seat and onto the floor.

'Stupify!' shouted Harry.

Cassy dived into her own space and his spell soared over her shoulder. It hit the large, blond man in the face and he slumped down heavily onto the linoleum floor. The other Death Eater stepped over his body and aimed at Harry but Cassy's shield sent it ricocheting straight back towards him. A nearby table gave a wailing cry as the force of the spell upheaved its bolted feet and tossed it effortlessly onto its side.

The waitress gave another loud shriek. Hermione popped up beside her and caught her as she collapsed with a quick tap of her wand.

' _Everte Statum_ ,' cried Neville.

The smaller Death Eater was thrown back into the wall far behind with a tremendous bang; then, there was nothing. The long light overhead flickered and dust swirled through the air. It settled in a thin layer at their feet and over the sticky tables and worn leather seats.

The fractured tiles crunched beneath Harry's feet. 'I should have recognised him. He was there when Dumbledore died – Dolohov, I think.'

'That one's Thorfinn Rowle,' voiced Neville, tipping the unconscious Death Eater's chin up. 'He's had a new wanted poster out over the summer. He's another one that broke out with no word from the Ministry.'

'We're not going to have to worry about that anymore, there's going to be no news at all anyway,' said Harry. He turned to Cassy and Hermione, then to the waitress Hermione had carefully laid on the floor. 'We need to erase their memories.'

He turned and summoned curtains to cover the wide store windows.

'Are you sure? Allowing them to live only gives us more people to fight next time,' asked Cassy seriously.

There was a heavy silence. No one wanted to do it but no one could deny the logic behind it.

Harry shook his head. 'We'd leave a trail if they died here. If we leave them alive and with no memory then no one will know for sure what happened.'

Cassy dipped her head into a low nod. She moved forward and crouched beside Dolohov. 'Obliviate'.

There was a beat before Cassy pulled back his eyelids.

'He's fine,' she announced at the sight of his glassy, unfocused eyes.

Neville let out a heavy sigh of relief and she moved onto the next one. He turned to Harry and then peered worriedly at the covered door. 'How did they find us?'

'You don't think Harry still has the trace on him, do you?' questioned Hermione, biting her lip. 'It has to break at seventeen, but if the Ministry has been infiltrated – well, they might have had a while to plan something.'

'You can't simply pick out someone and find them,' said Neville. He turned to Cassy with questioning eyes in search of reassurance. She drew her lips into a thin line.

Without any further ideas on how they were found, the four agreed that they had to move. Immediately, Cassy rejected the idea of them using her and Sirius' little cottage as their hiding place. Sirius would know she would not return to it, they had even discussed it. If anything was to happen to either of them, they would not return to the house because it was a good bit of information to reveal in favour of avoiding death. After all, the Ministry knew he had brought a house and although it was now protected beyond detection, that did not mean they did not know it existed somewhere and with Dumbledore gone, they needed somewhere to convene; it seemed the most likely place, after all, Grimmauld Place had been Sirius' too.

She was even less in favour of Harry's next suggestion.

'We'll go to Grimmy,' he announced.

'Anyone can get in there now,' protested Neville. 'Snape would've-'

'Yeah, well, I'd quite like to meet Snape! Besides, we're going to be mobbed wherever we go if I can't use magic. The trace doesn't work there, Cassy's said so before, so it's only if Snape thinks to check that we'd have a problem,' said Harry.

Hermione bit her lip. 'But-'

'Just until we figure this out,' he pressed.

There was no other option. There was nothing that they could reasonably do to check if he did really have the Trace on him, nothing that would not potential encourage another round of Death Eaters, better, stronger Death Eaters, to try their hand against them then and there in the cafe. It was with a reluctant nod that everyone linked up again and their guts twisted and darkness took over their eyes and the air was pushed from their lungs. It only lasted a second or two, before a new kind of darkness arrived before them.

Grimmauld Place remained tall and narrow, with grey bricks and cast iron railings. The handle, twisted into a serpent that gleamed unnaturally in the night, was carefully but quickly pushed open and the four teens hurried inside and out of the way of prying eyes. The dim gas lamps flickered meagrely to life and highlighted the moist, curling wallpaper. The farthest corners of the hall were still pitch black yet something was odd; something was out of place.

'Someone's been here,' muttered Cassy.

The umbrella stand was on its side.

'Where are the jinxes they put up against Snape?' asked Harry.

'We,' said Cassy with a flick of her eyes, 'set up two jinxes.'

She stepped off the doormat and immediately a disembodied voice echoed through the still halls.

'Severus Snape?'

'We are not Snape,' she answered easily just before her tongue had a chance to curl up in her mouth and render her speechless. She took another step forward, her eyes set dead ahead on the deepest of shadows at the end of the hall. This time there was no warning. No ghostly voice came to announce a jinx or a curse; instead, a dull figure of a man was suddenly illuminated.

Hermione shrieked and the curtains of Wulburga's portrait flew open to scream along with her.

The white hair, long and ragged, drifted and waved as though beneath water; the eyes, once blue and twinkling, were now sunken, hollow and devoid of all colour. The robes were that of which he died in, carefully detailed but no longer eccentric and bold, rather they hung off his skeletal frame with dark patches of old blood that matched a great streak of crusted hair on the back of his head.

'We did not kill you, Albus,' announced Cassy with calm authority. The image had been worse than she imagined it would be for although it was not real, and could never have been real, there was a sense of dread that filled her bones for a flickering moment. Her world had narrowed in on itself, leaving only Albus.

The panic curse activated by their presence there was not just felt by her; Hermione was crouched on the floor, her head protected by her arms, and beside her was Neville, sprawled out awkwardly and half propped up by the back door after having slipped on the doormat. Although Harry still stood, his face had lost all colour.

He turned sharply. 'Will you shut up!'

The curtains over Walgurga's portrait snapped shut.

Harry breathed out a heavy sigh. He stretched out a hand and heaved Hermione to her feet first and then Neville; he patted the latter's shoulder as he swayed where he stood, still pale and sceptical. 'Next time, Cassy, maybe warn us?'

Cassy did not reply. She peered up the stairs instead and listened carefully for signs of life. She could not even hear the scratchy voice of Kreacher rumbling through the house.

Hermione shuffled forward and muttered a short spell. When nothing happened, her shoulders sagged. 'We're alone,' she announced.

For a moment, no one moved. Eventually, they each made their way upstairs to the drawing room. The warm summer night did not seem to have any effect on the house and it remained as chilled and the air as still as it had ever been. Cassy welcomed it as she sunk into the unevenly stuffed sofa. The wall in front was bare, with scraped plaster and loose threads of the old family tapestry still clung on. The curtain rings scraped behind her and Neville informed them that not a soul was outside the house; no one had tracked them. Yet, Cassy was no longer listening, no longer listening to their words or the sound of the gas lamps burning, nor to the loud rummaging of Hermione's bag as she unloaded two of their four sleeping bags then and there to set out on the bare floorboards.

It took a few minutes for her mind to realign itself, her thoughts suddenly too loud for her mind, and even then it was only at the sound of a piercing hiss. She swivelled her head without any real urgency.

'Harry!' cried Hermione and Cassy was suddenly much more alert.

He stood stooped, his palm pressed firmly against his forehead, his knuckles white. His hand was pulled away by Cassy's smaller, softer hands yet held down with a grip of steel.

'Harry,' she said gently but firmly, 'it's not real. You need to breathe.'

He gave a great, shuddering exhale before opening his eyes again.

'What did you see?' she asked.

'Nothing,' he said. 'He's angry about something.'

'Probably that you're not at the wedding,' offered Neville, chewing on his bottom lip.

'It doesn't matter what it's about right now! Harry, you're not supposed to be feeling anything from him, the connection was supposed to be closed!' interjected Hermione hotly.

Cassy felt him tense again from where she still had a hold on his hands.

'It was for a while,' defended Harry just as aggressively.

'You can't let him get inside your mind,' continued Hermione.

'I'm not doing it on purpose!' shouted Harry, silencing any words that may have been tempted to run from her mouth. 'Do you think I like knowing he's in my head? After that happened last time he sent me pictures that weren't real? I hate it, Hermione, I hate this connection with him. When he gets really intense then I feel it, I've never been good at Occlumency, I don't know how to stop it.'

His face had steadily turned white and his hands trembled.

Neville cleared his throat. 'Do – do you think we should send a message to the Order? Let them know we're okay?'

Stiffly, Hermione nodded. 'I think I can send a message.'

Harry pulled himself from Cassy's grip and muttered a quick excuse before his hasty retreat. She watched him go and, when out of sight, heard the stumble in his steps and the small clatter of knocked objects Kreacher must have piled in the halls in their absence. She did not spare more than a glance at Neville and Hermione before following his footsteps down across the dark, windowless landing. Thankfully, she did not have to traverse the length and breadth of the old, twisting house. Only a few feet away was a thin beam of light across the stained floors and up the wall, the bathroom door was not fully pushed to, not quite locked to keep in the sound of struggling breaths and frantic muttering.

The light was almost blinding when compared to the aphotic hallway, yet, in reality, it was nothing more than a yellow trickle down the dark tiled walls. Still, even in the murky glow, Harry's face was ashen. A faint sheen of sweat glimmered at his hairline, his eyes were scrunched shut and his glasses threatened to slip from his bowed head. There was no movement when Cassy touched him. He did not recognise that she had slipped his spectacles from his face, nor when she brushed his thick hair back from his slick forehead. He jerked, his muscles contorting sharply with a stuttering hiss of air, but he showed no knowledge of her presence.

She pushed the door closed and sat back against it, her side pressed against his. With a gentle tug, she pulled him towards her, shuffling until her arms were looped around him and his head was nestled in the crook of her shoulder. Absently, she stroked his hair. Her hand ran down his clammy skin in soothing sweeps, her mouth uttering tender reassurances, though she could not see what he saw and she could not feel what he felt.

She held him there while he became lax in her arms and his breathing evened. Then she held him there while his eyes fluttered open and his arms wound sluggishly around her waist.

Hermione looked slightly guilty when she saw his ruffled appearance later that night. She looked upon them both with pleading eyes and asked if the four of them could stay in the drawing room, together and safe, just in case anything were to happen. Cassy received a particularly intense begging gaze; she would be the one most likely to refuse to sleep on a sofa when there were perfectly good beds only rooms away. She noted the way Hermione's brow had yet to ease and agreed to stay on the condition she got to pick the sofa. Hermione readily agreed and Neville let out a relieved breath the moment the words left her mouth. Soon the furniture was moved and their sleeping bags were set out with the girls on the chairs and the boys on the floor.

Cassy remained awake far longer than anyone else. She stared at the discoloured ceiling, seemingly blue from the glow of the little jar of fire Hermione had conjured. Neville had muttered into his sleeping bag, his words hardly audible when he asked if they could have a light on in case anything should happen. His face flushed a deep scarlet that it had not for several years now and faded when Harry nodded and praised the idea; he did not want to be caught unaware either, after all, the house was not safe by any means. She wondered if it was a sign of what the next weeks, months, perhaps years of her life were going to be – sleeping with her wand in her hand.

She listened to the tick-tock of a clock she could not see. She counted the minutes again and again with the hope the repetition might lull her to sleep, though her eyes remained stubbornly open and her mind reluctantly alert.

It was a little after two a.m that she finally pushed her way out of the sleeping bag. She halted for a moment to see if the rustling had disturbed anyone and when each of her friends' even breathing was heard, she continued to slip from the sofa, over Harry's sleeping body, and towards the door.

She unlocked it with only the barest of sounds as the metal tumblers inside shifted with the turn of the key. With _Lumos_ lighting the way, she crept through the hall and towards the stairs without much thought. She had already thought too much. She knew where she wanted to go, where her feet would take her given half-a-chance. She arrived on the uppermost level with a stone weight in her gut.

Just down the hall was Sirius' bedroom.

It appeared at first sight much the same as it had been before, with scantily clad pictures of muggle women on the walls and a long banner of Gryffindor Quidditch team pinned above his bed. Yet, some of the draws were open, their contents spilt across the dusty desk and floor. That was not at all like he had left it and Cassy felt a bright blaze of fury burn inside her. Someone had raided the house in their absence. She did not know if it was a Death Eater or a member of the Order who had done it and nor could she decide which she would consider worse. She spared a thought to her own bedroom downstairs but it did not evoke the same kind of rage. No one had any business rummaging through her father's belongings.

She sunk onto the bed with a small pile of papers in hand. A letter from Lily, some warnings from Hogwarts about his numerous detentions, and a few scribbled pieces of what looked like homework he never completed. She set them down and then picked them back up again with a heavy sigh. She scooped all the papers from the floor and furniture; she righted the paintings on the wall and the crooked mirror; the desk was realigned against the wall and the chair was picked up and its loose leg fitted back into place. It was only when it looked like she remembered it that she allowed herself to stop, when it was so meticulously close to the vague memories she did not know if were wholly real or simply filled in. It seemed ridiculous to her that the urge to right the room had been so strong, after all, not even Sirius had liked his own bedroom, but her hands twitched and her mind protested at the very thought of leaving it as it was.

Her hand lingered on the doorknob.

Pull yourself together, she demanded inwardly.

She shut the door and left herself in darkness once again.

Still very much awake, she continued to wander. Kreacher had, as she expected, begun to move boxes and bags back into the corridors. He had emptied some into little piles, others spilt out from frantically torn holes and lay sprawled down the halls. She roamed further than she had in a while, down towards the very end of the hall and paused at the door beside the only window.

'Regulus Arcturus Black', the plaque on the door read, 'Do not enter'.

A new feeling replaced the stone in her stomach. Excitement and trepidation coursed through her.

'Regulus Arcturus Black,' she whispered aloud. 'R.A.B!'

She groaned. She had entirely failed to think that the traitor might be within her family. It had never once crossed her mind that her uncle could have been the one to take the necklace, not when he had been said to have died at seventeen, not when he had fought her father so hard during their youth about honour and propriety. Then again, he had gone missing and his body was never found. She wished she had thought about the possibility harder.

With an inward curse at her stupidity, she entered the room eagerly and revealed the deep green bedding, carefully made with plump pillows. A single photograph was on the mantle, one of Regulus and the Slytherin Quidditch team, and above the bed was the Black family crest, half covered by yellowed newspaper clippings. Some of the pins had become loose and the sheets had fluttered down across the unused pillows where they had remained unmoved for what Cassy assumed must have been years. Unlike her father's room, this one had no overturned furniture or strewn clothes across the floor. It looked like what she imagined Regulus would have left it all those years ago, before he left and never returned.

'You shouldn't be in here,' came a croaky voice.

Cassy spun on the spot, her wand outstretched. 'Kreacher!'

Of all the times for him to be quiet, that was the worst one.

'You can't be in here,' he said, his lips curling into a snarl.

'Kreacher,' she began curiously, entirely undeterred by his tone, 'what happened to Uncle Regulus?'

The effect was immediate. Kreacher let out a deafening cry and swung his head against the door frame. He clawed at the chipping paint and spouted unintelligible words with every hit. Cassy strode forward and heaved the scrawny elf into the air before she dropped him down onto the bed. He only sobbed harder.

'Regulus went against the Dark Lord, didn't he? He stole Slytherin's locket,' she continued loudly over his wails. Suddenly, he stopped squirming like a puppet cut from its strings. His protruding eyes turned to her slowly, still full of tears, and his mouth hung open in silent shock. He stared, unmoving until Cassy spoke again, 'Kreacher, I need to know where the real necklace is. I need to destroy it.'

'What did you say?' asked the house-elf.

'I need you to tell me what happened to the locket,' she continued with calm authority. 'I need to destroy it.'

Kreacher put his head in his hands and began to cry afresh.

* * *

 **Back again with another chapter!**

 **Life is very hectic but is going to slow down a lot as of the end of next week, so hopefully things will be quicker than it has been for a while now. I feel terrible for leaving it so long, but I hope you like this chapter anyway. I haven't been online here for some time because of how hectic things have been and I've really missed it, truth be told. This chapter is a fair bit shorter than last time, too, so sorry about that as well!**

 **As always, let me know what you think. All the reviews so far have been wonderful and it's great to see people still enjoy the series after all this time.**

 **Thanks!**


	11. House Bound

C. M. Black: Bones of a Doe

 **Chapter XI: House bound**

It was in Sirius' room that Cassy awoke several hours later. She had only meant to give the room one last look and yet somehow ended up passed out on top of the duvet, curled tightly in the centre of the bed. Her spirits were high when she opened her eyes. It was a strange feeling when a sullenness had leaked into her mind for the last week, but one she eagerly wanted to share with Harry and her friends downstairs.

The gloomy corners and moist walls did not dampen her spirits, nor the spiders that crawled up the walls and scurried along the floor of the kitchen down in the basement. The gas lamps hissed around her and the kettle squealed when brought to the boil. She slipped a silver tray from a high cupboard and placed four mugs of black tea on top with a little bowl overflowing with sugar cubes she had found at the back of a cabinet.

No one was awake when she opened the drawing room door, though Hermione stirred when the tray clattered down onto a nearby table. She looked up at Cassy with blurry, brown eyes.

'Morning?' she asked, somewhat confused. 'What's all this?'

'I was going to make breakfast for everyone but then I thought I best not subject you to that until we are truly desperate,' said Cassy cheerfully.

Harry stretched out along his front like an oversized cat. 'I've been murdered in my sleep.'

'What?' laughed Hermione.

'Not only did Cassy contemplate cooking but she's happy so early in the morning. It's not natural,' he said as he wound his arms around his pillow and snuggled down again. 'Therefore, I'm dead and this is some sort of purgatory.'

Cassy threw a sugar cube at him. Neville and Hermione snickered.

'If you must know, I have two pieces of excellent news,' she said while handing out the mugs of tea. 'My father is alive.'

Harry jolted up.

'I asked Kreacher to tell me honestly if he was mine. He said he was not, which means my father must be alive, because I am the only one who has any claim to Kreacher if he were to die. He would be bound by his magic to be honest to me,' she continued.

'That's great, Cassy,' said Neville with a sleepy grin.

Harry stared for a moment and then a wide grin split the relief on his features. 'At least we know that.'

'Second,' continued Cassy as she sipped the scorching tea, 'I know who took the locket.'

There was a flurry of motion and babbling questions that she silenced with a wave of her hand.

'I asked Kreacher about that as well after I found my uncle Regulus' bedroom upstairs,' she said.

'R.A.B is your uncle?' asked Hermione.

Cassy nodded. 'Kreacher explained it all to me. It's quite a story actually and I know where to locket has gone, but I am not quite sure where exactly or how we are going to get it.'

'What do you mean?' asked Harry warily. The excitement that had surged through him at her announcement was quickly cooling at what sounded like a difficult journey ahead.

'It was in the house, but Fletcher's stolen it along with a lot of other heirlooms,' seethed Cassy, not even her excitement was able to stop the bitter tone. 'I've asked Kreacher to look for him. I sent Kitsy with him too, though he threw a fit about it.'

There was a jumbled sort of response that had everyone interrupting each other with questions and contradictions that Cassy allowed to run its course. It was only when they fell into a natural silence, each expectant and impatient, that she began to fill in the obvious holes in the story. She began with Kreacher's tale. It was not something she had ever expected to hear, not from his mouth or those of any house-elf she had ever met. She had recalled his choked words and how they told her that Voldemort had asked his followers for a house-elf; he had offered no explanation as to why, but Regulus was confident that whatever task the Dark Lord needed them to perform it would not be something they would ever return from. Yet, Regulus had ordered Kreacher to return. He had told him to return to them and that was what Kreacher had done, though he had found himself disorientated, his nerves screaming in pain, and his mouth releasing involuntary wails as Voldemort had forced him to drink from the opal basin again and again and again. Voldemort then left. Kreacher was alone.

She told her friends about how Kreacher had returned home, only to be hidden away by Regulus. Kreacher had cried harder when he spoke of how Regulus had protected him, had pretended him to be dead so Voldemort could never know that Kreacher recalled every step needed to reach the far-flung cave and how to bypass every security measure. He had told everything to his master and, in turn, Regulus had grown cold and distant from the Death Eaters until one day he ordered Kreacher to take him to that cave. He drank the potion and Kreacher took the locket, exchanged it for the fake that was now tucked away in Harry's moleskin pouch and left his master there to be dragged beneath the water by the undead as ordered.

'And he's never told anyone this?' questioned Neville soberly.

'He was ordered not to tell the family,' said Cassy.

Hermione pursed her lips, tear tracks glittering down her cheeks. 'How did he tell you then?'

'I'm the half-blooded, bastard child of the estranged former heir,' she said with a dry smile. 'In Kreacher's mind, I am nothing. That said, he cannot lie to me as easily as he may want because my father is still his master and that means he must serve me too for as long as that bond is recognised between us.'

'It's barbaric, what they make house-elves do. No wonder Kreacher's gone mad.' Hermione sniffed and wiped her eyes.

'How did he get out of the cave, though?' asked Harry, frowning.

'It's obvious, isn't it? While witches and wizards can't apparate in or out, Voldemort never would have considered house-elves and their own brand of magic. He left it completely accessible,' said Hermione.

Harry nodded and the four of them spent the morning exchanging theories and asking questions they may never know the answer to. By dinner, the excitement was beginning to wane and give way to impatience. The second day was spent on edge. The third day saw Cassy take her wand to the ghastly portrait in the hall.

'You ungrateful child!' roared Walburga.

'What do I have to thank you for?' huffed Cassy, her fingers wrapped tightly around either side of the massive frame. She gave a tremendous heave, one foot braced on the wall. Dust puffed from the edges and small chips of plaster rained onto the threadbare carpet below, but the portrait moved no more than a fraction of an inch. It was still firmly stuck to the wall.

'You abomination to the Black name-'

'You should see Tonks; she has pink hair.'

Walburga gave a piercing shriek and held her hands out in front of her as if trying to reach through the boundaries of her frame to throttle her granddaughter.

'You disgusting half-blood-'

'You married your own cousin. I think that's worse.'

Cassy gave another tug on the frame. She moved her wand from her hand to clasp between her lips and wedged her hands further behind the frame. With each tug, Walburga's screams grew louder and more desperate and although she could easily have silenced her, the screams were rather stress-relieving to hear.

'What's going on here then?'

Neville stood at the end of the hall, his hands wrapped between a grubby tea-towel.

'Sorry,' said Cassy. 'Is she bothering you?'

'No, I silenced the door about fifteen minutes ago. I was just wondering what you were doing to make her scream so loudly,' he answered in amusement. 'Want a hand?'

'How's your strength?'

'The same as when I was eleven,' he said as he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. They hooked their hands around of the frame and heaved. Larger chunks of plaster showered down this time, the ancient brick no doubt revealed at long last from behind its thick coverings. The wallpaper tore in long strips as it clung to the back of the portrait, gleaming with moist mould that no one would miss.

If Cassy was honest, she had gone to antagonise her Grandmother on purpose. It had been her who had thrown back the heavy drapes and began the whole debacle that followed Walburga's half-lucid presence. She and Hermione had argued again. It was Cassy's fault. There was something terribly wrong about being in Grimmauld Place without Sirius and Cassy had been driven half-mad by the silence of the last few days. No amount of discussion or planning for "what-ifs" could quell the boredom inside of her, nor the unease at the familiar walls penning her in once more, this time without her father, without the Order, without any definitive knowledge of just when she would be able to escape again. The house reminded her of her father and of Alphard. After all, it had been his death that had caused her to be confined to the wretched place to begin with and there she was again, faced with losing someone else and stuck staring out of the same windows into the same streets with the same guilt she had had before. She felt she was going absolutely insane.

She had snapped one too many times, the final strike being Hermione's request that she leave the piano alone for a while help them plan. She had said it tartly, exasperation filling her tone, but Cassy did not want to part from the piano; she did not want to leave the place she had bonded most with her father, the place only a year ago that she spoke about her mother, about the trial and Sirius' freedom. So, she had snapped. She had told Hermione to leave her alone and it had escalated into a fierce row the boys had to step between. Then, when she had stormed downstairs to her grandmother's portrait in search of someone else to argue with, Walburga insulted Sirius and Cassy allowed herself the pleasure of using whatever spells she knew to try and rip the cursed frame from the wall. If she was lucky, she could burn it in the garden at sunset.

It was unhealthy. Cassy knew it was unhealthy, but she could not quell the torrent of emotions that had built up inside of her in the last week. Too much focus had been given to the Weasleys, to the planning and preparation, to Harry's birthday, so she had not been able to dwell on her feelings. Now there was nothing but the faint hiss of the gas lamps or the rustling of doxies in the night.

Thinking about Sirius made her think of Alphard, thinking of Alphard made her think of the Malfoys' and that only served to heighten her temper.

She gave the portrait an extra hard tug.

The noise soon attracted Harry from upstairs; he sat on a step and watched the pair attempt to pull the plaster from the walls without bringing down the entire house – a feat that was much more difficult than expected. He offered no help, besides what he termed as "constructive criticism", and gleefully exchanged barbs with Walburga and cheered on Cassy's own ongoing argument with laughter.

It was a while later that Hermione appeared, looking much less surly that she had last. Cassy caught her eye, though neither spoke. Hermione took a seat beside Harry on the stairs and watched as the plaster tore from the walls just a little more.

They stayed there, voices loud and filled with biting remarks and loud laughter until a metallic clink shot through the house, thunderous despite their noise. The four were all upstairs without a moment's notice, wands drawn and huddled around the nearest corner, their heads turned to better hear the scrapes and creaks of the front door opening.

Then, there was nothing.

The feet did not immediately enter, nor were there any words of glee from rough voices or hushed whispers. There was not even a faint gasp when the white ghost of Dumbledore appeared from the depths of the threadbare mat.

'I did not kill you, Albus,' said the voice calmly.

Everyone perked up.

'Show yourself!' bellowed Harry as he jumped around the corner. His wand pointed directly at the shadowed figure, their face obscured by a heavy travelling cloak unsuitable for the August weather, even now the Sun had set.

'It's me, Remus,' said the intruder and the hood was pulled down to reveal a tired but pleased face. 'My name is Remus John Lupin, I am a werewolf and married to Nymphadora, Cassy's second cousin. I taught Harry the Patronus Charm in his third year at Hogwarts, which takes the form of a stag.'

'Well, I had to check,' said Harry.

'Of course,' said Remus, smiling.

Remus looked even more worse-for-wear up close than he had from atop the stairs. There were no visible wounds but he appeared to had gathered several more lines on his young face and the clothes he adorned were certainly not his best. He looked at each of them in turn, appraising them as they had for him.

'There are Death Eaters outside,' he said.

'We know,' they all answered together.

The Death Eaters had appeared the day after their arrival. No one had tried to enter the house yet, there had been no sign of Snape nor anyone he might have told the address to, though that did not quell the paranoia that it was only a matter of time before someone did.

'Do you think they know we're here?' asked Neville.

Remus shook his head. 'I'm sure they'd be more people out there if they did. They're staking out anywhere connected to you, Harry, they're here purely because they know Sirius probably inherited this house from his family, if Severus hasn't told them the location already. Speaking of Severus, has there been any sign of him?'

Everyone shook their heads.

'I think he must've been tongue tied by the curse and is unable to tell them the address,' said Hermione. 'There's no other explanation for them being outside and not inside, otherwise.'

Remus nodded thoughtfully. 'I have loads to tell you, so should we head downstairs and share our stories?'

The fire roared to life with a flick of his wand and Remus withdrew a handful of Butterbeer bottles from beneath his cloak. The bright glow of the fire and the warm liquid could not erase the cold walls of the kitchen, but it did create an ease that had been missing since their arrival. They all took a seat around the long, wooden table, eagerly awaiting what news Remus had brought.

'I would have been here days ago, but the Death Eaters trailing me have been hard to shake off,' he said.

'How's Tonks?' asked Cassy.

'She's fine,' he said briskly before he took a long drink of his Butterbeer. 'She's with her parents.'

Something inside Cassy twitched.

'Have you been here since the wedding?' he continued and when Harry shook his head, the story of how they had been found and attacked in London tumbled out, much to Remus' horror.

Hermione spoke tentatively, 'We wondered if Harry might still have the trace on him?'

'It's impossible,' answered Remus immediately.

Harry exhaled in relief.

They discussed only briefly the ways in which they may have tracked Harry down that night; none were very convincing because, if nothing else, they would have been able to locate him inside Grimmauld Place and more Death Eaters would have surrounded the house for certain. As it was, Remus could not offer any fresh ideas and Harry had little interest in discussing himself for longer than a few minutes at a time and soon moved the conversation along to the fate of the other wedding guests.

'Mostly everyone is fine,' said Remus. 'Kingsley's warning gave most people a chance to get out before any real fighting began. They didn't know you were there, Harry. They had an idea, but Arthur heard a rumour at the Ministry the day after – Scrimgeour was tortured for information before they killed him, but if that's true then he didn't give you away.'

A mixture of gratitude and shock flashed across Harry's face.

'What about the Weasleys?' questioned Hermione anxiously.

'Everyone's fine. The Ministry searched the house and found Ron's ghoul, he's hiding out with his Aunt Murial at the moment, I believe.'

'Ghoul?' said Neville.

'He didn't tell you? He's charmed the ghoul in the attic to look like him with Splattergroit, so if anyone came looking for him the family would have an excuse,' said Remus.

Hermione beamed. 'That's brilliant! That way he can still move around without any suspicion.'

'Yeah, it worked pretty well when they were being interrogated. No one wanted to get too close to him in case they caught it. At the moment, I think he's the only one of us not being tracked.'

'And everyone one else?' queried Harry.

'All okay. Tonks' parents were subjected to the Cruciatus Curse – they're fine, though, just a little shaken, obviously. They were looking for information where you went after your "visit" there the other day, Harry,' he said, though whether the assurance was for Cassy's sake or Neville's, no one was certain. 'They burnt down Dedalus Diggle's house too, but he's still looking after the Dursleys. They searched everyone's house who even _might_ be connected to you. They were rough but no one's been killed.'

There was an unspoken "yet" that was difficult to miss.

'How did they manage to get passed all the wards?' said Harry.

Cassy knew very well that none of the wards would hold if the Death Eaters put their minds to it. They would crumble even quicker now the Ministry was under their control too, after all, they knew every address, every family member, every part of a person's written history all tucked away in a little office beneath the ground.

Spells were more often destructive than defensive, anyway. There were more spells to kill a man than to save his life, more ways the break a shield than to create it. All that was needed was to remove the threat of being arrested or traced from the equation and the Death Eaters had free reign to impose themselves almost anywhere; only a well hidden Filidus Charm could really deter promise safety and even that, as Harry knew better than most, was not infallible.

From his cloak pocket, Remus then pulled a newspaper. He passed it across the table. 'Page two.'

Hermione pulled the crinkled paper towards her and flicked her eyes down the page quickly. From where Cassy sat, she could not see the words clearly enough to read the tiny print, but Hermione's sudden downwards shift in expression was very visible.

'Muggle-born registration?' she cried, aghast. 'How're we supposed to "prove" it's our own magic when they've already decided we're guilty?'

Neville turned the newspaper towards him. 'They think Muggle-borns stole their magic? That's ridiculous. Who can believe that?'

'It doesn't matter if the people doing it believe it or not, it's either the Muggle-borns or them. Voldemort's lot have done a good job at creating fear without actually even revealing it's him in charge,' said Remus heavily.

'Wait, so Voldemort's not the Minister of Magic?' said Harry.

'He doesn't need to be,' said Remus. 'He's got Pius Thicknesse working under the Imperious curse doing everything he tells him to.'

'People cannot rebel if there is no visible threat,' piped in Cassy. Her chin rested on her fingers thoughtfully. 'If Voldemort is not in charge then people cannot challenge him; if he remains at large then there is no specific place to aim an open rebellion.'

'Exactly,' said Remus.

'People must know it's him, though!' demanded Hermione, half-stating and half-desperately questioning the man. 'They're torturing people for Harry's whereabouts. People must know that's not right!'

'Read the front page,' he told them.

Neville turned back to the cover and this time, Cassy could very clearly read the bold, swirling font.

 **WANTED FOR QUESTIONING ABOUT THE DEATH OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE**

Beneath the headline was a photograph of Harry.

Neville and Hermione roared in outrage and Cassy reached beneath the table to grip his hand. Harry turned away from the newspaper.

'I'm sorry, Harry,' said Remus. 'If people begin to doubt you then we start to lose strength in fighting him, but it's early days. No one knows how much effect this will have.'

'It is working though, isn't it? It always bloody does,' he muttered. He squeezed Cassy's hand back.

'The sudden change in policy hasn't gone unnoticed. The coup may have been virtually silent, but that doesn't mean people haven't realised something drastic has changed in a matter of days. I think people are aware of it, they just don't know how to go forward with it when everyone around them might be working for Voldemort himself nowadays.'

'And Hogwarts?' asked Neville fretfully. His mind had no doubt turned to Luna and Ginny.

'Compulsory. No one can be educated overseas or at home, those that have been must now go to Hogwarts or face being tracked down. Muggle-borns will have to prove they are from a magical heritage before they can enter,' said Remus.

'And what happens if they can't?' said Hermione.

'We don't know,' admitted Remus sombrely.

There was a heavy silence.

'So he has made it so all young witches and wizards are under one roof and easier to control,' contemplated Cassy. 'If only we were still there, we could show him the flaws in that plan.' She smirked boldly and her words did the trick to lighten the mood. Neville sat up taller in his chair and Harry grinned roguishly. Remus, however, gave a withering sigh.

'Then I'm thankful you're not.' He leant forward in his seat and the amused smile slipped from his face almost instantly. 'It's my understanding that Albus left you a mission.'

'Yeah,' said Harry.

'Can you tell me what that mission is?'

Harry paused, 'I think if Dumbledore wanted you to know he would have mentioned it. He told me to tell Cassy, Neville, and Hermione, that's why they're here with me.'

'I expected that,' sighed Remus. 'I can be of some help, though. You know what I'm capable of and I can protect you. You don't even have to tell me what it is you're doing.'

Cassy stiffened and Harry must have noticed for he turned to look at her.

'Remus,' began Hermione softly, 'What about Tonks?'

'What about her?' he asked flippantly.

'I vouched for you,' growled Cassy. Her voice broke the tentative silence. The harsh chill of her tone extinguished any warmth the fire and new company had brought forth. Her dark blue eyes were narrowed sharply, her lips parted just slightly, ready to snap like a wolf closing in on another predator inside its territory. 'I told her you would love it but here you are running.'

For a moment, Remus looked blindsided, but it was only for a moment.

'Don't speak of things you don't understand,' he snarled, standing.

Cassy stood too and ripped her hand out of Harry's grip.

'What's happened?' asked Neville frantically.

'What's going on?' cried Hermione.

Neither Remus or Cassy spoke. They stared at one another, a silent contest to see which one of them would attack first, which one would crumble. Logically, Cassy knew she should hear him speak, allow him to explain himself and the fears she knew he must harbour, but she was a Black through and through and that meant once her temper was ignited it took only an instant to blossom into an inferno. She was very quickly running out of hands to hold her tongue with, so he had better speak fast.

'Remus, what's wrong with Tonks?' questioned Harry sternly, as if sensing his girlfriend's near eruption.

'She's fine,' he replied coldly.

Cassy kept his gaze, her eyes narrowing even further, daring him to dismiss the situation once more.

Heavily, Remus sighed. 'She's pregnant.'

'Oh, how wonderful!' squealed Hermione.

'That's great!' exclaimed Neville.

'How long have you known?' Remus turned his attention back to Cassy.

'Since Harry's birthday,' she said coolly, shortly.

Remus gave them all a bright, false smile. 'So, do you accept my proposal?'

'Just to clarify, you want to leave Tonks and run away with us?' said Harry.

Cassy almost smirked.

'There will be dangers you have never seen before, things I will know and will have faced; I was your Defence teacher for a reason. I can be of great service to you, Harry,' he said and it made Cassy's blood boil just a few degrees more. 'James would have wanted to know I was looking out for you.'

'My dad died for me,' said Harry bluntly. 'I think he'd rather know why you're planning on leaving your kid.'

Remus' face dropped and Cassy could not find it in her to care.

'You don't understand,' he murmured mournfully.

'Explain it then,' said Harry.

'I should never have married Tonks,' he said with a harsh swallow.

'I agree,' announced Cassy.

Hermione hissed something indistinguishable.

'No, I do agree with you, Remus. You should never have married her. If I had known you would leave her at the first sign of trouble then I would have stopped the wedding myself. She deserves better than that.'

'Exactly!' cried Remus. 'She should never have been tied to someone like me, someone so old, so broken. I have nothing to offer her or this child. She's an outcast now, people look at her differently for marrying me – neither of them will ever fit in because of me. Her parents disapprove of it too. I've regretted marrying her ever since.'

'So you think it's okay to just leave them now?' questioned Harry.

'You don't understand! You're not a werewolf, you have no idea how people in the real world treat us!' bellowed Remus. 'Tonks, the baby, they'll be outcasts, never able to live a normal life – my kind don't normally breed, that child will be like me, I know it.'

'So you're going to leave it without a father on top of it being a werewolf?' Harry's voice was deathly calm.

'Harry – you don't understand,' he pushed but Harry shook his head fiercely.

'I understand now that you're a coward.'

There was a bang, a flash, and a crack. Harry sailed backwards, his head collided with a wall and his previously occupied chair splintered beneath him. Remus had reached for his wand so suddenly that no one had time to respond and just as quickly he was gone. The front door slammed dully and the snap of Remus' apparition was audible through all the layers of thick stone and cement.

Cassy fished her hands through Harry's hair in search of a lump or cut, while Hermione wailed.

'You shouldn't have done that!' she cried.

'That was a bit harsh,' agreed Neville, face crumpled in concern.

'He had it coming,' grunted Harry as he edged out of Cassy's reach. 'He can't just up ship and leave his wife and kid because he's afraid. Parents – parents shouldn't leave their kids unless they have to.'

No one retorted to that. Harry repaired the chair and noisily opened the newspaper Remus had left. He held it up in front of him and blocked the other three from sight.

Hermione pursed her lips and sent a worried look to Neville. He shrugged back with upturned eyebrows. Cassy rolled her eyes; Remus would be fine.

'I know I shouldn't have called him a coward,' said Harry suddenly.

'No, you shouldn't have,' said Hermione.

'But he is acting like one,' he continued.

'Yes,' said Cassy, 'and it is too late now for him to change his mind and decide he wants nothing to do with them.'

'He's afraid of hurting them,' said Neville softly, 'but I'd rather have a chance to know my dad and have him be a werewolf than to never get to know him at all.'

'My father is missing and he just expected me to allow him to leave his own child so easily,' hissed Cassy beneath her breath. The sound carried in the tense silence.

Hermione looked slightly lost. Sometimes, Cassy forgot that Hermione had never experienced loss. Cassy, Harry, and Neville did not often discuss their family situations out of the simple fact that it never really came up and they had no desire to often incite those heavy topics. Yet they had varying degrees of similarity in their childhoods, all without their parents in some form, raised surrounded by people who thought less of them for one reason or another.

Neville was attempting to fill the silence with light chatter and the soft huff of the tea kettle when a booming crack echoed through the kitchen. Cassy almost swung to glare at the door, expecting to see Remus at the stairs with a curse upon his lips and another desperate plea in mind, but she then took in the tangle of limbs on the ground; three small bodies of greyish-green and one much larger form dressed not in rags but very much scrounged clothing.

With ears flapping madly, Kreacher pried himself from the brawl.

'Kreacher has brought back Mundungus Fletcher,' he announced and hissed the man's name as though the very words made him want to vomit.

Fletcher wailed: 'Get these ruddy things off me – get off me!'

'Kitsy,' ordered Cassy.

Immediately, the tall house-elf released Fletcher leaving only one other latched around his neck in a strangle-hold. It only took a second for Cassy to recognise the house-elf as Dobby. His hands were covered in thick mittens and upon his feet were several pairs of tatty socks. Despite the summer heat, he still layered the gifted or foraged clothes so heavily that it was a miracle he had not passed out from heat exhaustion already. When Cassy voiced this, he simply laughed.

'Oh, Dobby did, Miss Cassy,' he said enthusiastically. 'Dobby woke up to Winky smacking him with a rolled up newspaper – she had tried to bin all of Dobby's clothes again!'

His legs remained firmly wrapped around Fletcher's throat, his lips now tinged blue.

'Dobby, I think you're going to kill him,' said Harry. He flicked his wand the moment Dobby moved and secured Fletcher's wrist to the edge of the table with a conjured rope and caught the man's wand effortlessly with his left hand. Fletcher rolled on the ground and wailed like a cat fresh out of a bath as he pulled on the bindings. For a moment, everyone watched his struggle and Cassy had to fight down the urge to kick him.

'This is Mundungus Fletcher,' repeated Kreacher. 'It was he who took Master Regulus' necklace.'

'What are you on about, you deranged elf!' cried Fletcher. 'Let me out of this.'

'Where's the necklace now, Mundungus?' demanded Harry.

'What necklace?' he wailed.

'A locket,' continued Harry, 'It has an "S" on it in emeralds.'

'What you want that ol' thing for?' he sputtered. 'It didn't even open.'

'What do you mean "didn't"?' asked Cassy coldly.

All flailing limbs paused. He lay there as if stunned for a brief time and the cogs of his mind could almost be seen turning, whirring away as he tried to think of a lie. It was only a second, but they had all expected it and so no one missed the hesitation before he rolled back to peer around the untidy kitchen.

'Why? Was it expensive?' he questioned somewhat mournfully.

'Who did you sell it to?' barked Harry.

'He didn't sell it,' interjected Hermione, her lips pursed. 'You lost it, didn't you? That's why you're so upset.'

Fletcher let out a withering sigh and said, 'I got caught selling my wares one day by a woman from the Ministry. She almost had me arrested but she took a fancy to the necklace. Said if I gave it to her then she'd let me off.'

'Who?' asked Neville.

Fletcher shuffled on the floor as if he had attempted to shrug. 'I didn't ask her name, didn't seem important at the time. I was jus' glad not to go to Azkaban!'

'Whereabouts were you when you were caught?' promoted Hermione.

'Just down in Nocturn Alley, off Shutter Street and in the little alley there,' he said. 'Not a pretty woman, mind you. Looked a bit more like a toad that a person with an ugly pink bow in her hair as if she were ten.'

There was a collective hiss.

'Oy, don't be taking no offence on her behalf, you'd think the same if you'd have seen her,' said Fletcher.

Out of the corner of her eye, Cassy watched as Harry balled his hands into tight fists. Her own right hand flexed, stretching the vibrant white scars that lined the back of her pale skin.

Fletcher rubbed his wrist when the ropes had been removed. As he did, Cassy plucked his wand from Harry's hands and held it out to him. His scarred, dirty hands almost met the knotted wood when Cassy's fist met his stomach first. A loud gasp rattled through his chest so deeply that she could feel it, the touch of his breath was non-existent even with his mouth an inch from her ear where he had doubled over, merely kept standing by the fist in his gut.

Lowly, she spoke with a hard edge, a thread of pure diamond running through her tone. 'If you ever steal from my family or my House again, I will personally see to it that your hands are skinned bare and your eyes are unable to tell a goblet from a cooking pot.'

* * *

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	12. Where Magic is Might

C. M. Black: Bones of a Doe

 **Chapter XII: Where Magic is Might**

'It's strange, don't you think?' said Hermione the moment the front door slammed shut. 'You'd think Snape would've worked out a way to tell them how to get in by now.'

'I don't care what they are doing as long as they don't come in,' said Cassy.

What had started out as a couple of Death Eaters loitering outside at all hours had rapidly become a flock of intimidating shadows that more often than not did not bother to properly hide themselves from the Muggles on the street. When the Sun shone through the curtains that morning and Neville had peaked out as he did every sunrise, he called out in alarm. September 1st had evidently brought the ridiculous hope that Harry would simply waltz out of wherever he was hiding and board the Hogwart's Express without a second thought.

'I would suggest Dumbledore put a curse on Snape before he died, but that would be lifted with his death, so I have no idea why we are still alive,' added Cassy thoughtfully.

'Thanks, Cassy,' drawled Hermione.

'I am just saying that if it was me, I would have crept in during the night and killed us all,' she said simply and laughed at Hermione's rolling eyes.

'Luckily it's not you and you always put those alarms on the door,' she said.

'I think about these things.'

The pair descended into the kitchen that was alive with sizzling pans and delicious smells. Neville was an excellent cook with what little rations they had to spare for each meal. It was a testing time in the first two weeks when they looked upon the mounds of food they had packed away and yet limited themselves to two small meals a day. He made pasta, stews, soups, and risottos. On the odd occasion, they would leave the house in pairs and sneak to a far away Muggle shop late at night and buy a range of perishables - eggs, milk, meats and the like that would be gone within a day.

The conversation over dinner was always the same. Every day a pair would seek out the Ministry of Magic, sit and wait, observe and plot. They gathered information about who they saw and took note of each person they recognised day to day and the times they arrived and left. They each had picked a favourite person to observe and learn the schedules of, though it had taken time to pick out someone suitable amongst the stream of workers who passed them on the busy London streets. More than once, the conversation took a turn for the worse and a fiery round of thinly veiled insults were exchanged between Cassy and Harry.

It was not that Cassy did not trust him; she liked to believe that through the years she had proven beyond a doubt that she thought of him with the highest regard, but that was, inevitably, not how Harry saw it.

'It makes more sense to get her information and confront her somewhere that is not the very heart of the regime,' she said, not for the first time and what she very much doubted would be the last. 'I do not see how we can walk up to Umbridge in the Ministry and simply take the necklace from her. What if she's not even wearing it?'

'While what? Me and Hermione just sit here and twiddle our thumbs locked up in this bloody house?' snapped Harry. His food lay forgotten in front of him.

'Yes, actually. I think that's the best idea right now,' responded Cassy.

'I don't want to sit here and do nothing,' interjected Hermione.

'You're also being hunted, Hermione, the Ministry is the worst place for a Muggle-born right now,' said Neville.

'We're not splitting up,' said Harry.

'I think we should,' said Neville. He remained steady beneath the intensity of Harry's heated glare and shook his head unapologetically as he gathered food onto his fork. 'Cassy and I stand the best chances of getting in and out. The more of us there are the more chances one of us will be discovered and if we are then the entire place will go into lockdown. We can't justify four people going to look in the record office. We know a bit more about the Ministry than either of you.'

'I know plenty,' defended Hermione, but both Cassy and Neville shook their heads.

'The theory of the Ministry is very different than reality. I used to go there a lot with Alphard and Narcissa, sometimes I would even go with Lucius and watch him work. It's not like when we were there last. The Department of Mysteries had been cleared by Voldemort's followers, it's not that easy to get in and out of,' explained Cassy, although Hermione did not look greatly placated.

'What if her house in unplottable?' she asked.

'Then I guess we have no choice but to try and find her and – I don't know, grab her coattails or something as she leaves,' suggested Neville with a shrug.

'Well, it's great that you two have it all sorted. Good luck with it, do tell me when the war is won, won't you?' said Harry loudly, his chair scraped painfully across the floor with a screeching cry. Avoiding Neville's outstretched hand, he stomped up the rickety, uneven steps and his footsteps echoed down with obvious rage and impatience. There was no slam of the front door or even the drawing room, the sound simply continued on until it faded away with the barest thrum.

Only the scraping of knives and the clink of glasses broke the tense silence that followed. Beans were pushed around the plate idly and the sausages were decimated before anyone had anything of value to say. Once or twice Neville would clear his throat but nothing followed and Cassy pointedly ignored the intensity of Hermione's flickering stare.

The argument returned the next night and then the night two days after that, if only because the patrol that night in-between finished so late there was no time for a group meal. It was Neville who had worked on bringing Hermione around to the idea, though she still looked dubious as she weighed up the pros and cons late one night whilst Harry took a bath.

The three of them sat in the drawing room as they did most nights, the chairs laden with their belongings – blankets and pillows, papers and books. A faint orange still peaked in through the slither of open space between the thick curtains and cast a single widening beam across the floor and up the farthest wall like a line of division they much needed to break.

Cassy was careful not to say anything whilst so many thoughts visibly rumbled through Hermione's mind, nor had she spoken before it; Neville did, after all, have less of a tendency to aggravate her on purpose and so Hermione found less fault in whatever he said than she ever would with Cassy's reasoning, unconsciously or not. She watched as Hermione chewed her lip and shook her head, then nodded along with her internal debate. She frowned for a second before she emitted a long, soft sigh.

'Okay,' said Hermione, 'I see the reasoning, but I'll only agree on one condition. I want to go with Cassy.'

Cassy blinked.

'It's nothing against you, Neville,' she explained quickly, 'it's just that me and Cassy have been together on most of these little scouting trips, I've spent more time discussing what we found and we know each others' thoughts on the Ministry better than either you or Harry. I know you know the Ministry better than me because you've always been aware of it growing up, but I think me and Cassy have a better chance of being in-sync with plans than you two.'

It made sense, thought Cassy as she listened. However, Neville frowned deeply.

'I can do this,' he said after a beat.

'I know you can! That's not the issue, I just think we'd be more... aligned in our thoughts and able to get in and out quicker,' assured Hermione. She held up her palms as if the gesture would ward away any of Neville's grievances.

He continued to frown at her, somewhere between thoughtful and offended, and, perhaps, slightly testy. Slowly, he nodded and said, 'You're right, it would probably be better if you two went. You can think quicker than me in a crisis.'

Hermione peered back guiltily. 'That's not what I mean.'

Some sort of agreement had been made, though the air was no clearer for it. Waves of insecurity rolled off Neville so intensely that it seemed inconceivable that something or someone had not been knocked over by each crest and swell of his shifting emotions. There was no fight, though, he did not argue back after he had more time to process the suggestion. As always, he sat passively in acceptance of what had been said and brushed off any further comments that might have been in his favour. He said it was fine, that he understood and by the time the Sun had truly set he was merrily rambling about the plants he had found in the narrow, overgrown garden that morning buried beneath the thorns and ivy.

Although glances were exchanged between the two witches, neither broached the subject. The tension dissipated rather suddenly and Cassy and Hermione had silently agreed to let the shift go unchallenged if just to save their efforts for convincing Harry. It was expected that when the bathroom door shut, he did still not join them. He most likely had slunk off to a dingy corner of the house in search of sanctuary away from the labelled "plotting" and "take-over" of his mission; every time any of the three were left together, he seemed to think they spoke about him, which, Cassy had to acknowledge, they did, and refused to be around to hear the results of those conversations in case they confirmed something he did not want to hear.

He still joined Cassy in her bedroom when she read, she would run her fingers through his hair absently and sometimes he would throw the Snitch about and catch it lazily as she read long, winding passages of old story books aloud. He always thanked Neville for dinner and discussed possible meanings of the Beetle and the Bard with Hermione at the sight of the Rune dictionaries she had stowed away with them. There was an uncomfortable weight amongst them and Cassy rather resented how early on it had manifested, but she revelled in the fact that it did not linger when they were not discussing work, as Neville had come to term their task so vaguely left by Dumbledore.

When finally faced with Hermione's decision to agree with Cassy's plan, Harry relented. There was no shouting. There was no typical rage induced by a fierce sense of right and wrong or what was or was not his responsibility. Harry simply nodded his head.

'Fine,' he said shortly. 'Let me know if you find any more Horcruxes while you're there.'

He did not sleep in the drawing room that night. Cassy remained awake for two hours after the lights had been extinguished, after Neville had begun to snore softly and only the tick tock of the old clock accompanied him. She slipped from beneath her cover and crept through the door they had left open in case Harry possibly changed his mind, as unlikely as that was. It only took her a minute to find where he had made his nest for the night, surrounded by thin blankets and pillows all thrown in disarray from tossing and turning in one of the many guest rooms.

He turned to her, glasses on the side and green-eyes almost indistinguishable in the night. She stared back from where she lingered in the doorway, pyjama sleeves rolled to her elbows in the summer heat.

With a heavy sigh, he rolled onto his back, held out a hand which pulled her towards him and wrapped tightly around her back when she settled her head onto his chest.

'You better be careful tomorrow,' he muttered, his voice thick with tiredness but not drowsy enough to suggest he had slept yet.

'I always am,' she murmured back. 'Why don't you trust me with this?'

'I do,' he said without hesitation.

'Then what is it?'

'Dumbledore left this mission to me and now I'm letting you and Hermione just go off into probably the most hostile building in Britain while I sit here and twiddle my thumbs,' he explained bitterly.

'You can come on the next one,' joked Cassy.

He snorted, 'I better.'

There was a lengthy pause, though Harry's breathing did not change to signal he was asleep or even on the cusp of it. Cassy traced her hands over the softened bumps of his ribs, his heartbeat knocking against her ear.

'Why did you agree tonight?' When he did not answer, she continued, 'I expected another fight.'

He tensed for a moment, then sighed heavily. 'I had another vision while I was in the bath. Voldemort's looking for Gregorovich and he's killing people to find him. They were only a young family, they had no idea where he was.'

Cassy pushed aside the thought that if Harry had convulsing visions whilst bathing he very well may drown and instead focused on her hands that ran down his side in slow, feather-light motions again and again and again until he turned and curled around her, long limbs limp and finally asleep.

Harry still scowled when Cassy readied to leave only hours later. Dawn had just broken when she and Hermione checked and double-checked their bags for everything they could possibly need. Harry had given them a chunk of Peruvian Darkness Powder he had been given for his birthday from Fred and George and helped them tally what they had and what was missing.

With a twist of her feet, Cassy linked arms with Hermione and simultaneously dodged Neville's incoming hug. A great swirl of darkness sucked them in, forced the light from their eyes, muffled all noise, and left only a rush of blood behind when it all reappeared suddenly. A red brick wall snapped into focus ahead, each line of sandwiched cement so dully familiar, though not as painfully so as the wafting scent of building rubbish in the rusty skip beside them.

Cassy checked her watch before she peered out into the street. A thin veil of cloth fell over her eyes and Hermione stood closely behind her once again tightening the straps on the little, beaded bag. After having checked their feet were not sticking out from beneath the Invisibility Cloak, the two fell into a static stance and subdued silence.

A certain air of confidence surrounded Cassy; she had planned and calculated the first half of the plan to excruciating detail, she knew what was likely to happen, what might happen, and even what to do if something completely unexpected happened. She had observed enough to be confident, something Hermione was halfway between.

Had they been almost anywhere else, just the two of them in a silent street as they were, Cassy would have asked why Hermione felt the need to take Neville's place. Cassy had complete confidence in him, he knew the plan and through their many years as friends she could not think of an occasion where she needed him and he did not pull through, even in their first year with the enchanted chessboard he had done his best and helped them through despite he fears. Perhaps it was merely due to her own unwillingness to be left behind, or because of some sense of rivalry between her and Cassy that spurred Hermione to volunteer herself, to make her demand against him as she did – Cassy hoped it was not the case.

Instead of speaking, they stood in silence until the first of many familiar faces came along at exactly half-seven. She was a portly woman with dusty brown hair and rosy cheeks. There was nothing to indicate where she worked or that she was even a witch, if not for the monkey hand that held her hair up. It took only a second before she slumped to the floor.

Hermione's hex hit her at the exact moment she was directly in front of them so she fell suddenly into their waiting arms. After a stumble back at the extra weight, the pair dragged the woman back and behind the skip, both slightly guilty at leaving her hidden amongst streams of suspicious liquid. They then went back to the front of the alley and allowed the faces to pass as they searched for another potential witch or wizard. It was only when the crowd was becoming thick and there was no longer only one or two people in the narrow London street that they knew they did not have much time to be picky anymore.

They had been waiting on one woman who wore her identification proudly upon her chest, with shoes made of Mooncalf hide and rings of exotic gold with runes and stones unknown to Muggles banded around her wrists. Yet, she had not appeared.

Cassy turned to Hermione.

'Time to change plans?' she said. 'I think if you take her and get us inside the building, we can Polyjuice me into whatever member of staff is in the records office.'

'We could use a Nosebleed Nougat and when she runs off we could stun her and hide her body, you can come back and pretend she's fine,' continued Hermione thoughtfully. She then frowned. 'Getting you in might be dangerous. I don't know their security measures. What if they can detect you beneath the cloak?'

'Hopefully, we'll end up in the transport section, so if anything happens we can just apparate away,' said Cassy.

They looked at each other for a moment, neither quite in doubt but both very aware of the risks. Then, with a nod at one another, their attention was turned towards the unconscious woman on the ground. A charm was erected to obscure their presence at the mouth of the ally and Cassy kept her senses trained that way just in case anyone with higher perception happened to pass and spot their mirage. Behind her, Hermione pulled on the woman's clothing, groaning as she syphoned off the mysterious bin liquid. Only when she was dressed and her own clothes had been stuffed back into the beaded bag did she reach for the clip in the peppered brown hair on the woman's head. Cassy handed her a small flask.

'Any idea how long these doses will last?' questioned Cassy.

'You've used Polyjuice Potion more than me, I was hoping you'd tell me,' said Hermione grimly.

'Only once more.'

She had a very vague idea, but there were all sorts of factors that affected the duration, not all of which she could account for. It varied from person to person, it depended on their stress and their metabolism, their natural immunity to spells and potions, their size and weight, and the quality of the brew. The last on that list Cassy had no doubts about, she had, after all, brewed the numerous bottles of Polyjuice Potion herself. Everything else was open to change.

Hermione's face bubbled. Her cheeks became puffed and flushed, taking on a mottled red hue against the woman's otherwise pasty skin. Her clothes filled out and her curly hair became straight and wispy. Using her wand, she transfigured bits of rubbish into copies of the woman's many rings while Cassy twisted the now greying hair and secured it with the grumbling monkey hand.

The plan was subject to change, much the way Cassy made all of her plans and the exact opposite to Hermione. While Cassy had a dozen or so contingency plans for each possibility, Hermione favoured one solid plan. The discomfort showed through her uneven stride and how her arms were kept close to her body, quite unlike how the woman, Patricia Parsley, had strutted. Cassy whispered to her constantly, urging her to do this and that but Hermione remained firmly hunched and uncertain, but with a high head and searching eyes. The further they got towards the Ministry entrance, a dank underground restroom, the more Hermione found her stride.

At the sight of a long queue of witches shuffling one at a time into a mere four stalls, she gathered face and fell into step. No one spoke more than a brief greeting to one another. No one made eye contact. Even though the little restroom was packed tightly like bees in a hive, there was almost no brushing of limbs; there was almost no contact of any kind. It suited Cassy just fine, she would rather not have to touch anyway and it would be rather difficult to remain hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak if someone kept bumping into her or trying to take the empty space where she stood. Instead, everyone remained in a line and Cassy remained beside Hermione, stepping in tandem as everyone shuffled forward one pace at the sound of a flush.

'Cassy?' whispered Hermione. 'Cassy?'

'Yes?' breathed Cassy.

'You went quiet,' said Hermione.

'I'm still here,' assured Cassy.

They stepped forward again.

'What do we do when we get in there?' asked Hermione when the flush sounded again.

'I don't know,' replied Cassy quickly before the sound could fade.

They took another step. Three more steps later and they were at the front of the queue. The stall at the very end opened and no one came out.

'Go,' whispered Hermione.

Cassy strode quickly into the cubicle and Hermione snapped the door shut a moment later. They both stood in the dim space, not large enough to even stretch their arms out in, and stared at the discoloured toilet. An empty paper holder hung on the wall and a small bin sat beside it. Even the tiles had a foul stickiness to them that Cassy prayed to Merlin was not normal in Muggle restrooms.

'I think we need to get in it,' said Hermione.

Cassy pursed her lips although Hermione could not see it. 'You get in first so at least I can see where I am standing.'

It took no small amount of effort for Hermione to hitch her leg up high enough to step into the porcelain bowl with the tight pencil skirt Patricia Davies chose to wear that morning. Once she was in with her open-toed shoes just staying out of the water, Cassy climbed up next to her and gingerly balanced her own feet on the grimy slope.

Without warning, Hermione wrapped her arms tightly around Cassy.

'Can you grab the chain?' she asked.

Cassy wrangled an arm out of the iron grip.

'Okay,' said Hermione. 'One, two, three!'

Water flooded over their feet. The swirling transparency rapidly flooded with colours, their colours, as they seemed to dissolve away down into the pipes along with it. The tugging deep within Cassy's bones was not dissimilar to disapparating, though, for the first time, she felt as though there was not a breath to be found, no sign of the end as the water roared in her ears and instead of a flash of darkness it stated firmly in place.

 _One, two, three, four, five,_ she counted, _six, seven, eight, nine._

Sharp lines of gold swung in front of her eyes. Gleaming green tiles were suddenly beneath her dry feet and the rush of water faded to a din of barely distinguishable voices. Hermione's arms were still wrapped tightly around her, the other's face pale as she took in a deep breath.

'That was vile,' muttered Hermione.

Immediately, Cassy's eyes began searching whilst Hermione's could not. Keen not to look too curious and become suspicious, Hermione allowed Cassy to be her vision, counting on her to spot anyone or anything dangerous no within her immediate line of sight. Hermione eyed the scuttling people ahead and noted the way that they remained in tiny groups of two or three, if not entirely on their own. When one person bowed their head, everybody nearby did without even looking to see why and it became obvious who were Death Eaters and who were not, if just from their haughty expressions.

The corridor lead into a large hall lined with golden elevators. Several corridors sprouted off with more transportation grates but besides the elevators there was no where left to go.

'To the atrium,' said Cassy.

Hermione paused and looked for an empty lift. She bustled forward with her short, fat legs and slipped inside a freshly emptied one before anyone else had a chance. Cassy slotted in the corner behind her and leant heavily on the wall for support against the anticipated ghastly jerk the lifts always gave as they flung in this and that direction. Half a dozen other people joined them before the doors finally slid shut with a sharp scrape and the elevator jumped to life.

After an up, left, back, left, and an up again it halted.

'The Atrium,' announced a pleasant voice of a woman.

'Excuse me,' said Hermione as she edge across the wall and towards the opening. One of her hands reached back to grab Cassy and hauled her quickly from the elevator before anyone could move back and trap her, invisible and alone.

The atrium is much brighter than the rest of the Ministry had been thus far. The ceilings were higher, arched with gold beams and thick with dark shadows, but the fixtures that hung down scattered light everywhere, and the areas it did not reach were caught by the candelabras on the walls or the glittering glow of the bright signs announcing every direction to every room.

The fountain that had stood in the centre, the one which had vowed unity amongst magical beings, was gone. It had been rubble last time Cassy had seen it anyway, but what what was in its place was much, much worse than a failed promise. As ridiculous as it had seemed for a government with no concerns of equality to have a statue praising all beings had been, the sight of the new one was by far more offensive, more infuriating, more harmful than the fountain had ever been. Shining rock stood at the centre of the room, so tall only a truly blind man could miss it. A witch and wizard sat upon thrones, twisted bodies curled to form their perch, dozens of men and woman – Muggles – were piled together on a heap, their faces screaming in silent agony, their limbs thin and their features bulbous, demonic, and primitive.

'Oh my God,' breathed Hermione. 'That's absolutely sick.'

Along the bottom of the statue was calved: 'MAGIC IS MIGHT'.

Cassy pressed a hand into Hermione's back, urging her to hurry.

The record office was, more or less, where Cassy had expected it to be. They doubled around a few times before discovering the simple frosted glass door and the cut-out letters that announced it as exactly what they were looking for. The woman at the front desk was something of an issue for as much as she was constantly busy collecting notes that popped in through the pipes or answering questions, she kept a firm eye on everyone that passed.

Behind her was a transparent wall, invisible if not for the opalescent sheen when the light caught it just right. It stood a few feet back from her with just enough space for a filing cabinet and plant in-between. The room beyond was obscured by row after row of bookcases piled with folders and lockers left ajar, yet it was clear it stretched far beyond what any natural sight could see.

'I can't get close,' said Hermione on her third lap past. She halted besides the nearest bin to rummage in her bag. 'And we're not going to be able to get in at all with that security charm in place.'

'We can lure someone out and hope it's not charmed against Polyjuice,' said Cassy lowly.

Hermione nodded. 'I'm going to ask her where to get a Floo permit from, I think I have a notepad in here somewhere and then you can set off one of these bombs and distract everyone inside and I'll pretend it was - oh, but how will we get rid of...'

'I can figure something out whilst I'm in there. When someone leaves, you can pretend to help them in the toilets or something and give them a pastel, send them home and we can get a hair,' joined Cassy.

With notepad in hand, Hermione went to the desk. She lent across it, drawing the record clerk's attention to her wholly, if just out of annoyance at the invasion of space, and allowed Cassy to silently unlock the door and crack it open. She peered through the inch wide space, then gingerly opened it, cursing her lack of height for her inability to simply peer through the transparent letters still some distance above her head. As it was, no one was looking. In fact, there was only one person in sight, a tall, thin man with spectacles and a half-tucked shirt. He rummaged through a nearby cabinet, files heavy in his arms as he put them in order one by one.

There were many cabinets, large and small, some locked and others wide open. Cassy peered around searching for anything of use and keenly aware of Hermione's voice as it grew a decibel louder with a plea to hurry up with whatever she was going to do. Finally, Cassy found what she was looking for: a single, abandoned mug. After another quick look around, the mug began to hover and zipped over to where the man was stood; it was set down on the cabinet opposite, precariously balanced on the very edge.

With a quick glance back towards Hermione, Cassy took the tiny detonator out of her bag. The button gave a faint click and a mechanical whirring began to grind weakly beneath the chatter of the atrium, the tiny legs of the device began to move and as it wandered it split and doubled, split and doubled until a small hoard of flat-footed bombs wove in and out of the office.

'Sorry!' cried Patricia Davies voice, shrill and loud. There was a dull thud as something dropped down onto the desk.

Suddenly, and all at once, everything exploded.

Cassy had a split second to aim her wordless spell. The man vanished in a plume of smoke and shrieks of bodies out of sight joined the noise. Without time to check the plan had worked, Cassy fled the room in search of Hermione. She was gone from the desk and a number of people looked on, all still and silent, which provided very little help in finding Hermione's still foreign disguise amongst the staring faces. She twisted around again, hoping to have just missed her but she still had not found her by the time the office door opened.

The man stumbled out, clutching his mouth with a large pink mark stretched across his forehead. Coffee dripped from his hair down his face, although it had clearly already been siphoned off his shirt if the lack of dark stains suggested anything. Several other voices called to him as the door swung shut, questions of how he was and that they would tidy up whilst he was gone.

Cassy peered around again for Hermione.

The man weaved through the crowd like a puppy threw a hedge, not at all successfully and somewhat abashed when he came out the other side. He kept his head ducked and his cheeks flushed a deep red whenever he glanced up to find someone's gaze upon him. A set of restrooms were only on the other side of the atrium, past the vile statue and down a short corridor. Cassy stepped inside behind him. There were a few other men inside, which she pointedly did not look at, and followed her target to the sink.

Ideally, Hermione would have cut the man off before he could ever reach the restroom. She could have offered him a pastel as some sort of pain relief and then ushered him home with a gratuitous nosebleed, but Hermione was no where to be found and so Cassy was forced to improvise inside a male restroom where she would rather not be at all. She cured her inwardly.

Even if the men were all keeping to themselves, she knew she could not hex the clerk in the open as they were. For a moment, she felt slightly guilty for jabbing her wand at him as he doubled over with a groan. Quickly, she rushed into the nearest stall on the heels of her target, threw the cloak off and stunned the man all before the door had even properly shut behind her. He slumped down onto the toilet with a clatter.

Gerard Gruger, as the identification badge proclaimed him, had a yellow enough Polyjuice Potion that Cassy did not immediately want to vomit the moment it touched her lips. Yet, not even the colour could truly off-put the sour taste. A familiar bubbling radiated through her and only then did she begin to undress, quickly and quietly all tall the while very aware she was in a man's cubicle. When her own clothes were stuffed inside her bag and she had stripped the scruffy garments from Gruger's unconscious body and wore them as messily as she could bare, she tied him up and stunned him again for good measure.

No one looked at her as she exited the stall, not even as the lock twisted shut again. She pretended to heave a heavy sigh and stood hunched in front of the mirror with wet paper towels to dab at the irritated line she had scratched into his withered forehead seconds ago. Still, no one looked at her and so she took her leave silently, eyes set ahead.

When she opened the door, a voice caught her attention.

'Oh, Sir, are you alright? I'm afraid I dropped something from my bag and - '

'Hermione,' greeted Cassy with a wink.

'Cassy?' asked the ageing woman in front of her. 'Thank Merlin, I couldn't find you so I just hoped you'd end up here too!'

'You are the one who vanished,' countered Cassy light-heartedly. They fell into step with one another.

'You were literally invisible!' argued Hermione. 'So, has he gone home? How did you do it?'

'He's locked in a stall,' admitted Cassy. 'We only have so long before someone will wonder why no one is coming out.'

'Right,' said Hermione.

They weaved back threw the crowds and Hermione moved to linger near the bin once again, her head turned away from the woman at the desk who still had ash in her hair and grime on her desk. Cassy continued on to the door and opened it with one final nod towards Hermione. She slipped inside and ruffled her hair before she peered around. A woman smiled at her from a few rows back.

'Gerry, how's your head?' she asked brightly.

'Fine,' answered Cassy and gave the mark a rub for good measure. 'A little sore. I can't believe I bumped it like that.'

'I've never seen you move so fast. You must have been away with the fairies,' she teased.

Cassy stepped towards her. She crossed the opalescent barrier; nothing happened.

'So, is there anything that still needs clearing up?' she asked.

'Most of it's done, but there's a little pile over there that has no names on it. Denise left them for you while she went on a self-decided break. Honestly, why Marcus keeps her around is anyone's guess.' The woman pointed towards a small stack of folders on a nearby table.

The woman did not look at Cassy as she wandered around with the files in her arms. She continued to hum to herself whilst Cassy read each labelled cabinet carefully and moved farther and farther from the door. She halted at the sight of a massive, grey cupboard labelled: 'MINISTRY WORKERS'.

Perfect, thought Cassy, if only it wasn't locked.

She flicked her wand, relieved when the lock slid open without the use of some obscure spell or specific key. Quickly, she wrenched the doors open.

Still, the woman did not turn to look.

' _Accio_ ,' whispered Cassy. A single file jumped from the bottom shelf and up to her waiting hand. She flipped through the pages, ignoring each document citing Umbridge's promotions, her recommendations and her references. It was a page near the back that had a photograph attached to it, an old one where Umbridge's hair was long and the bow in her hair was noticeably absent.

 _Name: Dolores Jane Umbridge_

 _DOB: 26 August 1948_

 _Blood Status: Half-Blood (Pure-blood Father, Muggle Mother)_

 _Location: 19 Rottenham Lane, Cheshire_

Cassy could hardly contain a snort. Umbridge was a half-blood like herself, how ridiculous.

She stuck the file back where she had found it and locked the cupboard back up again.

'Oh, yes, there was a woman here early – asking all sorts of strange questions,' said a sudden nasally voice.

Cassy turned. At the front desk were two men, both dressed in black with woollen caps in their heads and silver letters printed down both sleeves, too crumpled by their stances to read.

'She dropped something on the desk – that's here, yes. I thought I'd seen her somewhere before - '

She stuff the files she was holding in a nearby drawer and then promptly walked straight out of the office without another word. A sharp nod to Hermione had them both disappearing into the crowd of workers without so much as a glance back.

'Was it there?' questioned Hermione.

'Yes,' said Cassy.

A pair of security workers hurried across their path.

A man stood peering down from behind a great glass wall on the floor above. His hands were linked behind his back. Cassy looked up at him and right then, he looked back down at her. Her head twisted suddenly, taking in everything around them. There was nothing abnormal, nothing that had not been that way when they entered and yet the entire atmosphere felt wrong.

'Hermione,' she said sharply.

Hermione's steps quickened. 'Those security guards were going towards the toilets.'

'They were at the front desk too,' said Cassy. 'I think they know Patricia Davis never showed up for work this morning and we have minutes before it's reported Gruger never made it out of the restroom.'

'Patricia!' called a voice and Hermione did not turn around. 'Patricia.'

'Get in the elevator,' ordered Hermione. 'Now!'

They ran the last few steps and shoved themselves inside an already crowded lift. Cassy let out a fake laugh and explained she was late with deliberate awkwardness that no one responded to. Hermione jabbed the "down" button and gripped Cassy's left arm tightly as her right reached up ahead to hold the hanging handles. The lift splutters to life much slower this time than before. They made a single stop before descending to their requested floor and the pair tried not to look too eager to leave.

It took fifty-six steps to reach the nearest transportation grate. Neither looked behind as they linked arms and apparated away. The brilliant gold and deep green twisted out of sight only to be replaced by a dank grey of the autumn sky and the old stone of Grimmauld Place. It was then, a moment too late, that Cassy realised what the grey skies meant and she could see the fear in Hermione's eyes at the exact point she realised it too – it had rained and that meant the step beneath them was slick and neither had braced for that upon landing. So, it was with no great surprise yet with shrieks all the same, that Cassy and Hermione slipped straight off the step of Grimmauld Place and onto the open path.

* * *

 **Because apparating is too useful and needs to be brought down a peg or two.**

 **I'm aiming to have a moment where Cassy has a bit of the story with each major character. So far we have done Sirius and Hermione, with a little bit of Ron, Fred, and George. I'm writing Neville's now, so that will be in the upcoming chapters.**

 **Hope you like it.**

 **Thanks!**


	13. The house of Dolores Umbridge

C. M. Black: Bones of a Doe

 **Chapter XIII: The house of Dolores Umbridge**

'Get inside!' screamed Hermione.

Jets of light accompanied the sudden roar of unfamiliar voices. The cloaked figures that had been lingering outside the house for so many weeks jumped to life, wands were drawn as some rushed towards them and others apparated away.

Cassy and Hermione scrambled onto the front step of Grimmauld Place, though the protective charms did little to ward away spells when the castor knew where he was aiming. Although they could no longer be seen, that did not stop a jet of purple light scorching the front door or a yellow light screaming down the hall the moment the door was thrown open. It slammed shut with such a bang that for a moment Cassy did not hear the thunderous footsteps from upstairs, but what she did notice were the curses aimed directly at her.

'The library, February 2nd, 1996!' called Cassy at the same time Hermione cried: 'We didn't kill you, Professor!'

Instantly, the curses stopped coming and the ghostly apparition of Dumbledore sunk back into the dusty carpet.

'Cassy?' questioned Harry, his eyes squinting at her from half-way down the stairs.

'Yes,' she said, aware she was, at that moment, a thirty-something-year-old man.

Hermione ran past him. 'We need to move now. We messed up.'

'Wait, what do you - ?'

'We slipped off the step,' explained Cassy as she squeezed past Harry and Neville on the stairs too. 'We were in such a hurry to avoid being caught at the Ministry that we didn't anticipate the rain or size of the step in comparison to how zealously we apparated at all.'

'We've been spotted, we need to go before the Death Eaters force their way inside,' continued Hermione.

Neville followed closely behind. 'But you don't look like you.'

'It hardly matters,' said Cassy as she stuffed pillows back into her little bag. 'Snape is quite aware of our fondness of Polyjuice Potion.'

Like panicked rabbits, they ran through the house collecting everything they could remember. Although they had never intended to make Grimmauld Place their base, they had scattered their belongings thoroughly through it. Kreacher watched them pack, vocally mournful at the idea of being alone with extra complaints of how he had not yet seen Master Regulus' necklace destroyed. Cassy told him to take care of himself and to hide if possible, but she knew it would do little good; she was not his mistress and Kreacher was bound to the Black household by willpower alone and always would be, magic be damned.

There was no immediate knock at the door, no thunderous blast to shake the walls and bring down the rood on top of them. Everyone was waiting for it as they tried to remember where they had left their belongings. Clothes were pulled from the counters and books were stuffed back in. Every minute felt simultaneously like an hour and a second, too long and yet not nearly enough.

It was raining again when they left. A light drizzle escaped the dull, dark sky, releasing little drops of salty rain onto the broad leaves of bright orange that now hung overhead. The trees were tall and old, not quite dense enough to rival the Forbidden Forest yet gnarled enough to show they were probably just as old.

'My great-aunt Sia used to live up this way,' said Cassy.

Only a few, fat drops bounced down the leaves and onto the heads of the four hiding beneath the wide branches. For a moment, they watched the still forest, how the lifeless leaves lay undisturbed and how the old tracks of foxes and badgers were fading with each splatter of rain. There was nothing alive in sight and nothing dead either.

Hermione passed Harry a bundle of cloth he unravelled to discover was a tent. It was a relief not to have to fuss with poles and hooks as the tent topped into shape at the flick of a wand. It allowed Cassy and Hermione to pace in a loose circle and create a little site for themselves in the woods, where they erected shield after shield, charm after charm that was to ward away everything and anything, rendering them almost invisible. When the wards were all set, Harry called everyone inside.

The tent was spacious with many beds and a table. It had a small kitchen area and a sectioned off space for what appeared to be a rudimentary toilet facility. Cassy hated it. She hated the idea of camping. She had not enjoyed it at the Quidditch World Cup for a single night, let alone an indefinite amount of time in the middle of nowhere in poor weather as winter loomed in the oncoming months. It was an entirely loathsome idea but she held her tongue and settled into one of the chairs beside Neville.

He asked them what had happened in the Ministry and how they had gotten to where they were. It was simple carelessness, replied Cassy, they had had no choice but to leave then and there and had not properly calculated it all. She attempted to make her words casual and less like she was piling the blame for the unfortunate accident on her and Hermione, although not creating a scenario in which Harry could possibly second-guess his decision to let the two go to the Ministry alone. It did not wholly work; Harry still paced and stood and sat and stood again as he muttered to himself about what was going to happen from then on. Eventually, when Cassy and Hermione's appearances had changed back to normal, he sighed loudly and dropped down onto a chair.

'Don't suppose someone has a map?' he asked.

When handed to him, he pulled to map close and trailed a finger over the crinkled surface. Cassy poked a finger down towards Portsmouth.

'Umbridge lives around here,' she explained. 'Near Milton Common. We can locate it easily enough, but getting near it might be more of a problem.'

'She won't have much in the way of defences,' said Harry.

'What makes you say that?' questioned Neville.

'Remember how easy it was to sneak things in and out of her office at Hogwarts? She faced open criticism then and even after her office was wrecked she still never properly warded it. She's too arrogant to think about it,' he said confidently.

'So, what's the plan?' Cassy leant across the table, her hands clasped together on the surface.

'What do you think of this?'

They did not plan thoroughly. The only real discussion they shared was on how not to get caught, which was far more useful than their previous exchanges about the Ministry had been. It was a more comfortable zone of operation: haphazard and silently agreed upon trust that would either see them through or would not, though it had yet to fail them. Hermione was less fond of these types of plans, yet they arranged to go that very evening all the same.

The tent was packed up and the enchantments were dispelled. There had been no opportunity to create a fire, to eat or to sit and warm their autumn wary skin. Cassy had her bag over her shoulder just as Hermione did, though her hair was now a bright orange and her eyes were a soft grey. Hermione's hair was dirty blonde and Neville had even changed his light hair to a dark black that brought forth the rosiness in his round face. It was only Harry that had to endure a Polyjuice Potion, one that turned him into a rather tall, young man with rough stubble and warm brown hair. No amount of Weasley Wizarding products could erase his iconic cursed scar or correct his poor vision.

They apparated together with a soft pop and reappeared on a dark country lane, backs pressed against an overgrown hedge that spilt into the narrow road. Shadows could not describe the deep darkness that crept across the ground, beneath the bushes and in the cracks of the tarmac; every inch was a perfect blackness, untouched by street lamps or glaring headlights of the latest Muggle vehicles. Far on the hill, there were a series of tiny lights from occupied bedrooms, some of which flickered out before their very eyes as the hour was late.

No one lit their wands. The wispy plumes of smoke from those far away homes immediately suggested it was not a Muggle area. Though some muggles retained their open fires, Harry and Hermione were confident enough to state that a great deal many had swapped to electric heaters or water boilers; many smoking chimneys often meant wizards, suspicious, paranoid wizards waiting for Death Eaters to knock at their door. Even disguised they would inevitably draw attention to themselves, a group of strangers would not bode well in their little village.

They had walked only ten feet when Neville stumbled into a pothole in the road and fell flat on his face. There was a dull thud and a grunt but no one could discern the edges of the dark lump on the ground to help him up. Hermione tried though she quickly hurried away again at his yelp; she had trodden straight onto his outstretched fingers. Hermione got her bushy hair caught in a hedge further up the lane and Harry bumped into a low, bendy branch that he peeled away to pass, only to let it fling back and swipe the top of Cassy's head painfully.

In a strange way, it reminded Cassy of her and Harry's first date when they trekked down the sodden hillside towards the Shrieking Shack, eager to break into and search the supposed most haunted house in Britain. While not the same in any sense, for the first time since they had found Dumbledore dead something was genuinely familiar. Harry held her hand now as he did then, half pulling her down the muddy road as he had up the hill that winter's afternoon. The stakes were high, higher than they had been in a long time, but it was hardly the most trying time they had faced in the handful of years they had all known one another. Killing a basilisk and breaking into the Ministry of Magic twice were much more testing times than breaking into one woman's house, who, as Harry had predicted, had placed only basic wards around her home.

It was a rather large cottage with square, hashed windows and a green door. A tall chimney protruded from the thatched roof that the twisting pink roses almost met as they climbed the trellis across much of the front of the house.

'Right,' said Harry, voice low and hushed. His eyes swept the neatly pruned garden and roved over the round bushes and across the beds of fading summer flowers. 'If anything is going to alert someone to us being here, it will be when we open the front door, so let's play it safe and go through a window.'

The largest window on the ground floor led into the kitchen. Harry peered through the glass with his wand now lit; the white light bounced off the glass and spread along the pane but in the parts that Harry could see the kitchen looked entirely deserted. A block of metal knives glinted back at him as did the dark green face of the Aga.

Two small circles flashed back from the doorway low to the ground.

Harry halted.

'What is it?' hissed Neville.

He shifted his wand. 'She has a cat. I thought it was a house-elf.'

'Just one?' asked Cassy.

Harry unlocked the window and pulled it open over the patio. 'Let's hope.'

He hoisted himself inside and perched on the inner windowsill for a moment. When no alarms sounded and Cassy's monitoring spell picked up no disturbances around the property, he stepped down onto the kitchen counter and held his hand out for Cassy to grasp. Her boots hit the tiled floor with a dull thud. The light from her wand illuminated the entire space, from the small breakfast table at the far end to the long-haired cat that now eyed her from the top of a nearby cupboard. The counters gleamed, the tiles shone, and plates hung on the wall in perfect lines. There was no sign of a broom or mop bucket. The nearest cupboards were stuffed with food and not a single bottle of polish, there was not even soap by the sink.

'She must have a house-elf,' said Cassy.

Hermione let out a mournful moan.

When everyone was inside and the window was closed, they set off through the house with only the fake locket draped around Harry's neck for reference of what they were looking for. Only half-way up the staircase did Cassy and Harry hear a crash from Neville and Hermione in the basement. Their voices continued, muffled and without urgency, they had likely found the house-elf after all. The pair continued onward, wary of every step that creaked and floorboard that squeaked. There were not many rooms on the landing, all closed with bronze plaques to announce their function.

The closest was the bathroom, small in size with a deceptively large bath tub. The locket was not beneath the sink nor hidden in the airing cupboard, although neither expected it to be.

The moved onto the next room, helpfully titled "Guest Bedroom" although it looked as though it had never been touched. The bedding was folded stiffly around the mattress, the pillows plump and unused. The bedside drawers were empty and if not for the floral paper, the walls would have been entirely barren. Not even a hanger swayed in the wardrobe.

At the next door, Harry pressed his finger to his lips and Cassy rolled her eyes. The master bedroom was unlocked and the door slid open with all the noise of a firework in space. Silence continued. There was no one there. The sheets were pulled away at one corner, prepared and ready for use, but very much empty. The walls were a girlish pink with the occasional painting of a cat or country meadow. Tall, dark furniture lined the edges of the room; a box of jewellery sat upon the chest of drawers and above it was a large mirror with a pink beret hung from one corner.

In the box there were several rings, each with large, dark stones stuck on the front; many of the chains were silver and not the gold and emerald they were in search of. Those that were gold were too new and too different from Regulus' copy to possibly be the Horcrux. Even after Cassy and Harry had rummaged through Umbridge's draws and cabinets, half-emptied her wardrobe and put it all back again, there was nothing.

'She's wearing it, isn't she?' said Harry, without any real questioning.

Cassy pursed her lips. 'Most likely, but I am hoping she has a study so we can possibly dig up some inside information, if nothing else.'

Harry nodded in agreement and the pair then abandoned their search of Umbridge's bedroom and moved to the final room of the first floor. Harry rattled the handle.

'It's locked,' he said. 'Alohamora.'

Nothing happened.

Cassy pressed her hand flat against the oak.

'Anything?' he asked.

'Not that I can tell. It's probably just a more advanced locking spell.'

The word 'Study' glittered tantalisingly as the brass plaque was bathed in white light.

'I'm not going to go through all of them,' said Harry before his Lumos flickered out. 'Stand back.'

Splintered and singed, fragments of smoking wood flew in every direction. The door shot open, rebounding off the wall with a loud smack, the doorknob drooped sadly, partially melted with a dangerous orange tinge to the dark metal.

Below sounded rushing footsteps.

'It's fine,' called Harry into the darkness. 'I just busted open a door.'

The noise softened a little but there was still urgency in the movements as Neville and Hermione hurried up the stairs regardless. They skidded into sight, vision then transfixed on the burning embers scattered on the immaculate floorboards. Each raised their eyebrows, though with very different expressions; Hermione held a look of resigned disapproval and Neville merely looked impressed at the controlled demolition that lay ahead.

'I tried to stop him but he simply wouldn't listen,' sighed Cassy and Neville snorted loudly.

'Yeah, right,' he said. 'You love a little destruction.'

The study was by no means little. Whilst most offices were squashed into the smallest room of the house, Umbridge took pride in making a statement of the importance of her work. Almost as large as the master bedroom, the walls were lined with photographs of herself and various important figures. In some, she shook hands and in others, she merely smiled a wide, tight-lipped smirk that squashed her already beady eyes into narrow banana-shaped slits with no hint of colour besides the darkness of her pupils. She looked giddy and smug all at once as she stood with various Ministers and business owners, some of the faces Cassy recognised from scandals in the Daily Profit, ones that had mysteriously blown over with no real explanation besides the quiet knowledge of the public that they all had money and good friends. Umbridge seemed to be one of them.

Her bookcase held few old books but rather updated versions re-written in recent years with philosophies much older than any original could have boasted. They were all disgustingly similar in their mandates, all praising conservative values held value to only a minority in the twentieth-century, ones praising good breeding and the values of pure-blooded hierarchy, or the boastfulness of "strong" government and the compliance it bred within the people beneath. More than that, though, the bookcase held files.

Cassy did not hesitate to pull out the wads of flimsy folders and lay them across the stiff white chaise longue beneath the window. For once, she was delighted by Umbridge's irritating sense of law and order, if only because the files were alphabetical and it took less than three seconds to find the bold "B" inked on the second file. There was only a few papers inside each folder but the largest clipped stack by far was titled: _Black, Cassiopeia._

It was not herself she had searched for but she took a moment to flick through it anyway.

 _WHEREABOUTS UNKNOW._

 _SUSPECTED AID TO UNDESIRABLE No. 1._

 _FATHER'S LOCATION UNKNOWN_

 _CANTABURY ADRESS (OWN) UNINHABITED_

 _EAST SUSSEX ADRESS (FATHER'S) YET TO BE LOCATED_

Beyond a small list of statuses, Umrbidge had penned in several notes about Cassy's person.

 _RECKLESS AND DISRESPECTFUL_

 _CUNNING WITH ACADEMIC CREDITS_

 _POPULAR WITH SOCIATAL DEVIANTS_

 _BEST NOT TO ENGAGE DIRECTLY_

 _CANNOT BE REFORMED_

 _In 1995-1996, I taught Cassiopeia Black for Defence Against the Dark Arts. During this period, she displayed severe disinterest in authority and complete condemnation for the Ministry of Magic. This said, Black has a range of skills and would frequently display them with little regard for others. She is self-focused but easily lead by Potter when he wants it._

 _Although Black comes from a good family, she is a far cry from the nobility she wishes to be and it is most likely in this knowledge that she found company in the form of Potter and his deviants. Over the last year, she has proved herself popular with other societal degenerates and holds a considerable influence in Potter's popularity and responsibility for the anti-government wave that swept through the country since Minister Fudge was forced to resign. It is therefore likely she is hiding in one of the homes of such people and her capture will rely on thorough questioning of public menaces._

 _It is my recommendation that Black be taken as a priority and handled with the utmost care; her trial and punishment is necessary for a strong and stable leadership. It has been suggested by members of the government beneath Minister Thicknesse that Black not be engaged directly as she has already caused many severe disturbances in the recent months as a member of The Order of the Phoenix._

At the sight of the next page, Cassy almost laughed. It was a large photograph of herself, her body half twisted away and her face turned to stare intensely at something just beyond the centre. The trees behind her blackened, the few remaining leaves were eerily still as the air remained stagnant, unmoving despite the drifting embers far in the distance that glowed brightly against the darkness of the skyline and so very angry against the pale light of the moon. Cassy had never seen the photograph before, but she recognised the gnarled limbs of the charcoal trees: the village that had been set on fire not so long ago where she and Ron had raced to pull people from the flames.

Below her photograph was a promise of a reward, an unstated amount but paired with a reminder that failure to alert the authorities at the sight of her would result in immediate arrest. More than that, and what made her smirk smugly, was the bold, highlighted bar that read: "Approach with extreme caution".

The person after her was Sirius, but he held only one page in the file, his wanted poster from his escape from Azkaban and scrawled questions on the back about how he had done it and how Dumbledore had managed to wrangle a trial for a convicted murderer.

Hermione held a few lines of information and they all agreed Umbridge had never forgiven her for handing her over to a giant and a herd of angry centaurs. She turned then to "L", but there was nothing on either Neville or Luna. Potter was a popular topic with Harry having a thick stash of papers, newspaper clippings and a wanted poster with a 100,000 Galleon bounty that she held up with a laugh.

'Oh great,' said Harry. 'Quick, turn me in and we'll split the cash.'

There was a list of crimes to his name that Harry had never committed but most were familiar from the slanderous pages of The Daily Prophet. Umbridge seemed to cling to these, convinced of his guilt in some form, at least on paper as means to justify the accusations and urgency in a copy of her letter to Scrimgeous dated many months ago on the importance in interrogating Harry on Dumbledore's death.

A smaller file was held on all of the Weasleys. It contained their places of employment, where they lived and even a bit on Fleur's family in France.

'Why does she have all of this?' muttered Neville. 'She's not actually part of the investigations, is she?'

'I doubt it. I reckon she's just gathering information so she can write scathing, self-important letters to various officials to make herself look knowledgeable. She's head of the Muggleborn interrogation squad, isn't she? She's making herself look involved,' said Hermione.

Harry hushed them all.

Everyone froze in place and following his lead, extinguished their wands. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a loud _clip clip_ of heels on exposed wood sounded from beneath them. Umbridge was home. Harry took a step out of the study, his long, lanky legs covering much of the distance from the doorway to the rails. He peeked over the edge.

A light flickered to life before and Umbridge hummed to herself as she shuffled down the hall. She called out an odd name twice before her words were lost to them in cursed mumbles at her house-elf's failure to materialise. The steps soon became distant and a second light faintly joined the first.

Harry carefully stepped to the top of the stairs, still disguised as a man they had found on one of their stakeouts of the Ministry. Behind him, Cassy, Neville, and Hermione followed, careful to step where he stepped in the knowledge no creak would sound to give them away. A soft clatter of a teaspoon against the tray rang over the fading whistle of the kettle on the Aga as Harry poked his head around the door.

He fired first. Umbridge managed nothing more than a shriek before she was bound and on the ground. A blindfold slipped over her eyes and Hermione ducked in the steal her wand from her pocket while Harry ripped a shining locket, Slytherin's locket, from her neck. As they gathered around her wriggling body, Cassy slipped back out of the kitchen and to the living room. Quickly, she overturned tables and emptied the bookcases across the floor.

'What are you doing?' hissed Hermione as Cassy began to move upstairs once again.

'It's going to look rather strange if we just take a locket, isn't it? If Umbridge puts in a complaint about it then as small as the chances are that a Death Eater somewhere might recognise it, I would rather avoid it. At least if we look like we stole several things and wrecked her house then what exactly we have taken from her will be less obvious if amongst other things,' said Cassy.

'Good plan,' agreed Hermione easily.

Really, thought Cassy, it was probably less to do with covering their tracks and more because of how much Hermione hated the woman. Oh, they had been a terrible influence on her.

* * *

 **Oops, how long has it been? I swear it's not intentional! I've had a hectic few months and not in a good way either, so this has been the last thing on my mind. Hopefully, I can get around to writing a bit more frequently soon but I've got things I need to apply for and stuff that has to be done. Things will clear up soon and you'll be back to regular updates. Not too much of the story is left to go anymore. I can't possibly leave it at year seven!**

 **As always, let me know what you thought.**

 **Thanks!**


	14. On the road

**C. M. Black: Bones of a Doe**

Chapter XIV: On the road

Cassy watched through the bars of her bunk as Harry paced back and forth. She did not know how long he had been doing it, but he had made sixteen laps around the table since she had begun counting not long ago. He would march up to the tent flap, then back again to his bed, then to Cassy and Hermione's bunk-bed, before then stomping away to the far end of the tent. It was not always in that order yet he flitted from place to place with something clearly consuming his thoughts and agitating his movements to the point he cared little if he woke anyone or not.

Faint voices rang outside, their words long and tuneful. A guitar strummed as their words faded out before a second voice joined in again, higher and sweeter than the first. She was too far away to hear the words, one ear pressed against the flat, borrowed pillow.

'Harry?' hissed Hermione's voice from the darkness.

He halted and looked at her for a moment before his head turned towards the tent's entrance once more.

'Is everything okay?' she asked.

'No,' said Harry without hesitation.

'Is there something outside?' Cassy's voice made Hermione audibly jump in the bed beneath hers.

'Can't you hear it?' demanded Harry in a peculiar tone.

'Hear what?' asked Hermione.

'That,' he said.

The walls of the tent rustled at the hands of a soft breeze and a cricket chirped back to another loudly in the night. The hum of the radio had fallen quiet and the music had given way to a murmur of conversation.

'The radio?' guessed Cassy. There were no footsteps or distant howls of the werewolves Cassy had been worried about upon setting up camp.

'Exactly,' he growled.

Now sitting, Cassy peered down at him with narrowed eyes. She wiped away any remaining tiredness and ran a hand through her short hair before she swung her legs over the frame and dropped softly to the floor.

'What's wrong with it?' she asked.

'I don't like it – being able to hear voices like that. It sets my nerves on edge,' he said.

Cassy said nothing. She turned her eyes to Hermione to find the other was already there to meet her gaze.

Harry took a step forward.

'Harry,' said Cassy sharply yet he did not stop. The flaps were quickly thrown open and he stomped onto the sodden soil without reservation. Neville turned with wide eyes, his mouth open to greet them as Cassy and Hermione appeared at the doorway not far behind, however, the words never left his mouth; instead, a squeak rang out followed by a loud curse.

'Give it back,' said Neville, on his feet with his arms outstretched.

Harry had plucked the radio from the ground and swung his arm back as if to hurl it into the distant bushes. Rather than that, he slammed a hand over the dial and silenced it roughly before thrusting it back into Neville's chest.

'What was that for?' snapped Neville.

'Keep it off,' ordered Harry.

'You almost broke it!'

'Good, no one needs to be hearing that shit anyway!'

'Take it off,' demanded Hermione. 'Now.'

In the darkness, very little of Harry's vibrant eyes could be seen. The flickering fire only just touched the glass of his spectacles, it cast a white sheen across the lenses that gave his face a look of dangerous blankness.

A touch of his elbow had him flinch and it was only then, stood so close and looking now with searching eyes, that Cassy saw his face for the first time. A faint sheen of sweat covered his pale, clammy skin and the palm of her hand that was buried in his tousled hair. The back of his head was slick with it, his hair flatter than it had any real right to be for such early hours of the morning.

'Take off the necklace, Harry,' she said, quietly but with an edge that left no room for argument. For a second, he simply stared at her, his whites of his eyes red and the fragile skin beneath heavy with wary shadows. He grunted and dropped the necklace into Hermione's open palm. Then, without a further word, retreated inside and Cassy followed a step behind.

She lit the lamp on the table before she climbed onto Harry's bed and wriggled down next to him in what little room there was with him lying flat on his stomach.

'What was that?' she muttered in his ear.

'I don't know,' he said and turned his head towards her. 'I just woke up – I had this dream, but I can't really remember it and I was so angry. Then I heard the radio and, God, Cassy, it puts me on edge being able to hear other people, for a minute I thought someone was outside and then I just felt this rage at Neville and it wasn't even anything - ' He cut himself short.

'You had a bad dream last night too,' said Cassy softly. 'That necklace, I think it does things. Dark magic effects those around it, it has an alluring nature by default, but what that is is something far worse simply because of the soul contained, part of the darkest Lord in recorded history. I don't think we should be wearing it for long periods of time.'

'I need to go and apologise to Neville,' he said.

'Yes, you do.'

Slytherin's necklace was often strung up on a bedpost most nights or, when Harry felt particularly threatened, in his moleskin pouch Hagrid had brought him for his birthday. They wore it during the day and it was not until Cassy's turn that she felt it. She could feel the metal as it weighed heavily around her neck, the little heart inside the closed locket beating strongly against her own. It was a repulsive sensation, so powerful and out of rhythm with hers but the longer she wore it the more the differences seemed to fade and it was only her continued inspection of the dark piece that kept her mind aware of it at all.

There was a wonderment in the Horcrux that Cassy was reluctant to admit to her friends. It held life, a false life, part of a person's life they had willingly parted with in the search for a chance of a second life, yet it was almost as though that life was its own. The dreams it gave Harry were nothing like anything Cassy had ever witnessed before. They were not visions, not pained and reluctant but angry, raging fits that left his mind seething and his magic pulsing for a fight. Although Cassy had yet to figure out what it did to her, if anything, she was undeniably curious and some parts eager and reluctant all at the same time to discover it.

She concentrated on the thump inside the metal whilst the rain drizzled down outside in an autumn haze. The tent flaps were pulled open and she sat with her knees pulled up in the entryway, woollen gloves on and a small jar of fire Hermione had conjured during her first watch for company. She tapped the Horcrux against the jar just out of curiosity and yet found herself slightly disappointed when the flames did not react although she had really expected no less. The Sneakascope on her other side made no noise. It had not all night and no blurry images of flashed on its cloudy surface. There had been no one in sight since they had set up their camp.

They remained there for several more days before Harry decided it was time for them to leave. Travelling, he said, was the easiest way to keep anyone from finding them, accidentally or not; no one had disagreed with his decision, though he felt the need to defend himself all the same. They moved farther west towards Wales. Neville was more familiar with the area, his mother having grown up not far away and his maternal family having had him to stay numerous times before his days at Hogwarts.

They were nestled in the crook of a valley, towering mountains jutted up from behind dark, full trees. Birds sang in a way they had not near Cassy's home, so flooded of life everywhere they turned. The food options were better there too, more plentiful with various mushrooms and berries and streams of fish and rabbit burrows. It was peaceful and that only made Neville cling to the radio more.

Cassy gagged on a bit of stew. The meat was tough and the vegetables – exactly what they were she did not know for she had not paid the slightest slither of attention to the cooking – were too soft whilst the broth was bitter and hot. Whatever she had held between her teeth gave an alarming pop before flooding her mouth his a cool, thick liquid. She turned quickly half intending to spit it out on the grass.

'Are you alright?' asked Neville.

He sat beside her, spoon in hand.

She waved her hand at him whilst she willed away the watering of her eyes as she swallowed.

'Sorry,' he said. 'I know it's not great, I'm trying to do something I've seen my aunt do but she never told me how - '

'It's fine, Neville,' said Cassy.

'Really? You're a funny colour.'

Her stomach churned.

'I'm fine. It's fine,' she said.

'You ate a fisheye, didn't you?'

'Why were there fish eyes in there, to begin with?' she cried.

'There wasn't supposed to be,' he said quickly. 'I thought I might have dropped one in but then I couldn't find it again - '

'Neville!'

Despite herself, Cassy laughed when Neville threw his head back and chortled at the sight of her horror. She swiped at him and he threw up his hands and insisted he was only joking. He held up a pouch of stone-like berries he had picked from the undergrowth of the river. Cassy curled her nose and demanded he eat one and prove it; when he refused, she was very much determined to make him.

Their laughter brought out Harry and Hermione and the four settled down for dinner inside not long after.

The rain continued to fall as the days continued to pass. What was a week soon turned into six and October was nearing its end; the air cooled further and on some days a thin layer of frost tipped the grass where the due drops used to lie. The beautiful orange and red leaves had all fallen from the trees, the branches then bare and the crisp colours trodden into the undergrowth to become sullied and invisible beneath layers of dirt and rain.

Each day they would try to destroy the Horcrux, but nothing ever happened. Sometimes, the barest of scratches may have tainted the gold surface but it would soon heal to look as perfect as before.

'Why would Dumbledore not tell us how to destroy it?' asked Neville. It was a question they had all posed at one time or another.

'We need to break the container beyond magical repair, right? So, if we...' Harry trailed off and shot a spell at the locket that was half-submerged by the decaying leaves. He shot another and another but again the dents simply popped out. 'Any ideas yet?'

'Don't say it like that. I'm trying,' said Cassy sternly.

'You've just been looking at that necklace all day,' returned Harry.

Cassy scowled at him before she returned to rearranging the tiny scribbles she had drawn out into some semblance of a code. As much as she had researched the meanings of the symbols, nothing had made sense to her yet. She was certain they had to mean something; after all, Dumbledore would not have handed her something that bore no importance to their quest.

Harry sighed loudly.

'Stop letting your temper get the better of you, you only feel worse for what you say,' she said.

As soon as Harry turned on his heel towards Cassy, Neville scrambled up and disappeared inside the tent with a jumbled excuse.

'I haven't said anything wrong, though, have I?' he challenged. 'You've not been putting much effort into helping so far.'

Cassy paused for a second. Then, she continued to draw.

'Oh, good. There you go pretending you're back in a world where time stands still for your little hobbies.'

'Feeling vicious today, are we? I would normally tell you to take the necklace off but this is all you,' she said with a far-away tone that suggested to Harry that she really felt she had better things to do.

He barred his teeth and she barred hers back.

'For your information, not that I'm sure you deserve to be privy to it, I have been trying to figure this necklace out, yes, but I have also been looking for clues as to where my father might be. I have been looking for news of potential Order activities to see if my cousin is alive, if her husband returned to her or gallivanted off on a self-decided pilgrimage. I have been trying to figure out a way to contact the Weasleys to see how they do and how my grandparents are fairing now they are shoved away in a little house so far from everything they have ever know simply due to their misfortune of being related to me.' A haughty tone overtook her voice. 'However, yes, I have been trying to figure out how to get rid of the Horcrux, but unless you happen to have a Basilisk fang with you, then I suggest you turn to finding the others like the rest of us have.'

Cassy stood swiftly and strode into the tent without another word. The tent flap closed but did not quite quell the whispers that flowed from within; the exact words eluded him but the urgent and secretive tone did not.

It was hardly the first time he had heard quiet voices, voices that fell silent when he passed or changed topics to blatantly that it only made that hand of paranoia cling to his sleeve that little bit firmer. He had asked Cassy about it once and only once, for the mere notion that they all held doubt in him was shot down without being allowed a moment to ruminate. It was not quite convincing, though he knew Cassy had not lied to him. They might not openly doubt him, his abilities or his quest, but there was something growing between the four of them.

So, he had asked Hermione. When the question was asked, she did not respond immediately as Cassy did and Harry knew then that he had been right; there was a problem.

'It's not that we don't trust you, Harry,' she had told him tentatively, 'it's just that – it's just we thought you'd have more of a plan.'

Cassy had told him once that Dumbledore had allowed him to tell them this grand secret for a reason, yet with the way they whispered and their stagnation of ideas, he began to think otherwise. Dumbledore had left them with nothing.

Their travels continued in much the same way, an argument between silences and laughter. Neither Cassy nor Harry quite managed to apologise for their words. It was a relief to Neville and Hermione that they both had the same method of dealing with their frustrations and would often isolate themselves at random intervals with little to no warning. Harry had always been so open with his emotions, unable to contain them through years of being blamed and punished no matter what he did by his relatives, he had simply not developed the ability to be a coherent liar and, for the most part, had very much given up trying. He had always been more likely to say what he felt, but when it came to Cassy he had always attempted to be more tactful, whether not to upset her or simply because he knew she would give as good as he did if he struck the wrong nerve. So, more often than not, he sulked somewhere within sight of the tent until someone went to collect him and had taken to doing the same with Cassy.

The end of October brought difficulties. Harry could see the permanent frown that marred her pale face from dawn until dusk and even then she looked restless as she slept. He had laid next to her that night, curled around her and she relaxed into his embrace and slept still for the first time all week. She had awoken with complaints on her lips of a numb arm from lying in one position all night, though Harry had blamed that on her unnatural need to roll about so much all the time; he often had to lay an arm across her to get get to stay still but once she had acclimatised to the new, additional weight she then began to shift again unless he put his hand directly over her face but she was never very impressed when she awoke to that.

She turned to him, her face an inch from his own. Her eyes softened from their narrow stare at his exclamation of her sleeping habits. Her hand tugged gently on the loose sleeve of his sleep attire.

'I am sorry, you know,' she whispered, her words almost lost in the darkness of the early morning, 'for making you feel like I'm not supporting you. I'm struggling more than I should be.'

'No, you're not,' he murmured back immediately. 'You're holding it together as always and I'm the one adding pressure.'

'I didn't want to add more pressure to you by talking about it,' admitted Cassy, 'especially not when I didn't know how I felt about it all at the beginning.'

They lay in silence and listened to the faint whistle of the wind through the trees outside.

'I love you,' she muttered against his lips.

'I love you, too,' he returned. 'I didn't mean what I said. I'm just so angry, all the time. I have nothing to show for this entire stupid journey and I have no idea where to go or what to do.'

'We'll figure it out.'

If Neville or Hermione had heard their hushed conversation from their perch outside the tent, neither mentioned it.

It was a week later, a week of no progress and a week further confined to just the four's unending company of one another, that Hermione trudged across the uneven rock towards Harry with her little storybook in hand.

'Cassy trying to teach Neville how to foxtrot to the radio. She's really keen,' said Hermione without a greeting. She sat on the ledge beside him and curled her toes into her trainers at the harsh wind at the cliff face.

Harry did not grin as she had expected. His lips quirked with a small, lopsided twitch.

'It's Sirius' birthday,' he told her.

'Oh.' Hermione grimaced.

'Was there something you needed?'

Hermione stopped fiddling with the small tear in the corner of the book's cover.

'I think I know why we were left the sword,' she announced with a hopeful smile, tone forcefully upbeat.

'Really?'

'In second year, you stabbed the Basilisk with it,' she said.

Harry was quiet for a moment before his eyes lit up wildly. 'The venom! Cassy said – the venom from the fang destroyed the diary, so - '

'The sword should be impregnated with venom too,' continued Hermione excitedly.

'Brilliant. Hermione, you're brilliant.'

She flushed and began to ramble, although Harry was hardly listening to her words anymore. All of his thoughts kept screaming in joy; they had a way to get rid of the Horcruxes. Dumbledore had left them a way to destroy them, he just could not state it in his will. He had left them clues after all.

He sobered suddenly.

'But, Hermione, Scrimgeour sad the sword is still at Hogwarts,' he said.

The smile slid off Hermione's face too. 'I know. Snape probably knows what it's for, as well. There is no way it's leaving his sight.'

'I think there'll be a Horcrux there too,' he said, thoughtful and determined. 'Voldemort always - '

There was a roar of noise. The gentle whistle of wind spun angrily around them, deafening them to all but the sound of low, echoing cracks. Harry had only a second to turn his head before a blur of a wand crossed his vision and then it was gone, his eyesight blurred beyond comprehension as Hermione ripped his glasses from his face. The flesh of his brow began to swell, encroached down into his eye-line and further masked the distorted figures that now stood tall only a few feet away.

There was a far-off shout and a flash of colourful light.

'Go! Go now!'

Harry immediately began to struggle from Hermione's vice-like grip on his arm.

 _Cassy._

* * *

 **Short chapter, but left it on a nice little cliffhanger for you!**

 **I had this edited and saved for ages to be published but I kept forgetting. I'm working and now doing a course while applying for another course, so it's not been on the top of the to-do list. The next chapter shouldn't be so long, because Christmas is coming and that means time to write!**

 **Thank-you to everyone who has reviewed. As always, it means a lot.**

 **Thanks!**


	15. Fractures

C. M. Black: Bones of a Doe

 **Chapter XV: Fractures**

Hermione's grip slipped from Harry's arm. She parried a blast from one of the men and with it flung herself in front of Harry's unseeing form. His scar was gone, hidden in the folds of swollen skin and his bright eyes were narrowed and watery. It was a glaring beacon that they had something to hide and the more she could hide his face the better chance of slipping away unrecognised was. However, that plan came to a grinding halt so suddenly that Hermione found her mind completely unmoving.

Ahead, vibrant and alive, was a fire that engulfed and incinerated the tent as though it was no more than a strand of hair. On his knees, Neville fought but his hands were already behind his back. Cassy was still on her feet though ash clung to her coat and luminous, dyed hair that matched the roaring flames around her.

Then, Neville was gone.

'No!' squeaked Hermione. The attempt to keep the desperate words inside had failed her. She stared at the spot Neville had been in before the hooded figure had Disapparatedwith him so suddenly.

Although Hermione could not see Cassy face, it was plainly obvious what she was thinking. She knew it too: this was not a fight. It had never been intended to be a fight. These were _Snatchers_.

Cassy flung her head towards her and roared at the top of her lungs, 'What are you waiting for? Go!'

She could not. Her feet would not move to close the distance and help her friend, but her magic would not respond to allow her to leave either. Reflexively, she blocked another attack. Neville was gone and Cassy was asking her to allow the same to be done to her, to simply let her go and Hermione's mind began to whir with theories, ideas on how she could get to where her friend stood on the other side of a pair of hunters and salvage what was left of their belongings. The voice behind startled her.

'Hermione?'

It was gruff and frustrated and punctuated with panic.

Harry, she thought, of course. She needed to get him away. She had promised Cassy she would.

She could not bring herself to spare even one final glance at where Cassy was battling. She could not bear to or else she feared she might change her mind and condemn them all. She reached behind her blindly and gripped the front of Harry's knitted jumper and then, like promised, she vanished from the rocky outcrop.

Before anything else, perhaps before she had even re-materialised in a distant field, Hermione was sobbing. She doubled over with a palm pressed over her mouth, a stream of tears already streaked across the chilled skin. She heaved, unsure if it was an attempt to breath deeper or a threat to vomit. Either way, her own body hardly concerned her. Her mind was far away and then very near, so suddenly drawn back to the reason she was there at all.

She dived to take a hold of Harry's waist. One of his arms was trapped between them but it did not stop him from hurling her off him. She skidded and pounced back just as his body began to blur; her feet remained firmly planted on the ground, she held him down and forced him to stay despite his attempts to leave. He gave a gasp of pain between their grappling but showed no signs of relenting his wand nor halting his seething words.

'How could you!'

Hermione could not answer that even if she wanted to. She did not know how she had found the motivated to do it either.

'You've abandoned them!'

She had, she knew. She had abandoned Cassy and Neville to a fate she knew nothing about.

'I hate you!'

Hermione finally raised her wand against him, a fumble of movement with her arms still around his back that sent them both sprawling to the floor.

The ground was solid beneath them, though the soil was soft without marking their clothes. The grass was long and uneven. Hermione peered between the blades where she lay and only then realised the field held curious cows that slowly edged towards the pair. She pushed herself up to her forearms and turned her head. There was nothing but fields beyond their own besides a thin pathway that was lined with bushes. An occasional lamppost sprung from above the blackthorn trees few and far between.

A tear dropped down from her nose and onto the flourishing grass.

'Harry,' she said.

There was no response. Harry lay completely still on his back, his puffy eyes fixated on the grey sky above.

'Harry,' she said again, 'we will find them. I promise.'

She could not promise that. The words sounded hollow even to her own ears. People went missing all the time. Sirius had been missing for months and even with the entire Order of the Phoenix searching for him he had yet to be found. They might never find them.

'Harry, you are our only chance of stopping – of stopping You-Know-Who. I promised, you have to understand, that I promised Cassy that if anything were to happen, if there was ever a chance of you being captured or killed that I would get you out before anything else. We all promised it, whoever was left behind. We all understood that.' She could hardly stop the words spilling out in choked, rambling sentences. She had to make him understand. He _had_ to understand.

'I want to go back, Harry. I want to but we can't because there won't be anything left there. The tent, it's gone. They took Neville immediately and as soon as they were within reach they'd have taken us too. Cassy told us to go. I wanted to stay, Harry, I did, but we couldn't.'

Harry blinked slowly up at the sky and Hermione was unsure he had heard her at all.

'They weren't going to fight us. They aren't like Death Eaters, they didn't just want to fight us until we died. They wanted to capture us, to take us somewhere, interrogation or something, I don't know.' She placed her wand over his face and the swelling began to soften. 'If they found you then it'd be all over. Everything that everyone has done these years, this war and the last, it would be all for nothing because only you can defeat him.'

It was ridiculous that anything said by Trelawney could be true. It seemed impossible that a supposed prophesy could be genuine, that some words spouted by a woman with a half-frazzled mind could predict what she did and not be deemed insane. Hermione had never believed in fate. There was no stock to be held in someone claiming what another can and cannot be, what they could and could not achieve, and she had almost laughed hysterically at the class of Divination. Yet, everything had been true up to that point and she bitterly wondered if there was something written in the stars about her leaving her friends to die.

She pocketed Harry's wand and took the binding curse from him. Slowly, he sat.

'It's not for you to decide,' he said, voice firm despite the lack of movement of his face. 'It should never be for you to decide who is more important than me.'

'Then what about us?' she fired back. 'What about our right to chose to hold you above our own safety. We all chose this, Harry. We knew the risks.'

'I don't want you here anymore,' he said without hesitation, without heat or grief.

A deep chill swept through Hermione's body.

'We'll find them,' she pleaded.

'Dead?' he said.

She flinched.

'That's what you said before, isn't it? Couldn't let them capture us because we'd die? They're dead then, aren't they?'

A fire burnt within Hermione's eyes but it was nothing complained to the one ignited in her chest.

'You think this is easy for me?' she screamed and sent the nosy cows galloping away. 'I hate this, Harry, I hate it! I'm well aware I left my friends to get captured, to get taken to God knows where to have who knows what done to them. I can't undo that and even then I'm not sure given the choice I would! I wish I could have helped, but getting you to safety was all I could do. I wish it had been me, I wish I hadn't swapped watch with Cassy because at least then you'd be together. I'd rather be dead, Harry. I'd rather be dead than here like this but you need to live to defeat him and I made a choice that will haunt me until I die.'

Harry stared at her impassively.

'Say something,' she screeched. 'I left my best-friends to the mercy of killers, so say something! Shout and me, curse me, fight me – _just do something_.'

Sobs racked her body. The violent shuddering made if difficult for her to breathe and each puff of air only left more room for another cough.

'Give me my wand, Hermione.'

'No,' she choked out.

'My wand.'

'No, you'll leave.'

She did not have the strength to fight away his hands as they delved into her coat pockets. She dared not open her eyes to see his retreating feet; she could not bear to see him leave her too.

' _Repello Muggletum, Salvio Hexia, Cave Inimicum...'_

Hermione jerked her head up. 'What are you doing?'

Harry did not look back at her and instead continued his slow pace in a circle. 'I need time to think and I can't do it in the open.'

It was only when he had made a slow loop back around that a peculiar mark became visible at the edge of his shirt collar that poked up over the edge of the scarlet jumper.

'Oh, you've been Splinched!' cried Hermione. She slung the beaded bag from her shoulder and her arm disappeared inside causing small clanks and clinks as she rummaged.

From the corner of his eye, Harry watched her before he continued to pace in a second circle to check the wards as he had been taught. He heard her scramble up and stumbled to a stop an arm's length from his back. She cleared her throat and held out a small, amber bottle.

'Dittany,' she said meekly. 'It'll speed up the healing. Just put a few drops on.'

When Harry accepted the bottle, Hermione scampered back to where she had been before. He heaved a heavy sigh and stared out across the narrow lane to the thin cover of leafless trees. The Splinch had been the last thing on his mind. In his original dazed state, he had hardly realised the pain beyond a sharp, short hiss and had forgotten about it since, partially numbed by confusion and anger.

A few droplets of blood marred his shirt. He peeled back the collar, suddenly aware that despite the lack of blood, there was a distinct lack of skin too. It began and ended suddenly, clean cut and stretched across the length of his shoulder to the centre of his collarbone and splintered from there. His hand shook as he lifted the pipette, the pain, extraordinary now, blazed through him now that his mind remembered it existed.

Some length away with careful eyes, Hermione watched him. Even from the distance, she could see his skin knit itself back together in a pink, delicate cobweb of woven streaks. She knew it had to have been her unrelenting hold on him and determination counter to his own that had caused Harry to Splinch himself, if not because of his desperation and lack of focus.

There was no small ache through her body, nor a tiny pinch of her heart. It was a tremendous pain she felt through every nerve, every fibre of her being was weighed down with guilt and fear and anguish and hatred. She hated that it was her who had to make that choice to leave them. It seemed easy to blame it on Cassy and tell Harry that it was on her orders that she had left them; if Cassy had not shouted she may not have thought to go at all, but that seemed weak because, in the end, the only one who had left had been Hermione.

Her stomach churned as she recalled Neville's enraged face just seconds before he vanished. Neville who would always offer her a comforting shoulder and who never said a bad word against her despite listening to her long and repetitive complaints when Cassy had purposefully wound her up. Neville never blamed her for being clever, he never held jealousy for her prowess or judged her for her short-comings. He listened when she spoke of her home with genuine interest because to Neville that was what different was: interesting.

Luna was an oddity to Hermione but not to Neville. At first, she had pitied Neville's soft heart for how enraptured he was with the strange girl and awaited the moment that he admitted he had felt sorry for her, but it never came. In the end, Hermione had to admit she was thankful for it. It was simply another of his strengths to accept people as they were.

Without Neville, she wondered if she would have ever have spoken to Cassy with more than heated criticism. She had watched their blossoming friendship from afar, utterly confounded by how two people so different could possibly get along. For a time, she assumed it had been Harry who held the three together as the mediator but once she got to know them in their second year she realised that was not quite true. Cassy was simply a very different person on the surface than she was underneath.

She had relied on the other less through the years than Neville or Harry had, she knew. She did not need her wild ideas or her clever schemes to help her along as they did, but Hermione knew she simply relied on her in a different way. Cassy had a way of goading her that Hermione had come to expect and to need; she prompted her without real explanation to become something more than she often wanted before she realised how much she needed it. Had Cassy ignored her letter so many summers ago, Hermione knew she would have spent her entire time at Hogwarts alone.

Harry had to know that.

'Where do you think they might have taken them?'

Hermione jumped. She looked up with watery eyes; Harry was already creating a rift in the grass with his pacing.

'Erm – I would assume Malfoy Manor. If they recognise Cassy, it makes the most sense they'd take them to her relatives for interrogation,' she answered hesitantly.

'I have no idea where Malfoy Manor is, but that doesn't mean nobody does,' he muttered in thought.

'Dobby?' asked Hermione.

'Exactly.'

There was an obvious problem in that plan though and they both knew it. Regardless of how much Dobby adored Harry, he was not his house-elf. He did not have the magical bond that would allow the small being to sense when Harry wanted him and so no matter how much they may wish for him to appear, he would not.

'We need to figure out a way of contacting Dobby and we'll need his help getting into the house,' plotted Harry. 'Dobby should still work at Hogwarts – or would he, now Snape is Head? If he is then we just need someone who can contact him - '

Hermione let Harry ramble without interruption, despite her desperate want to. They could not very well simply send a letter to the house-elf.

'So, the only way to get in and out undetected would be Apparition, but to do that – I've got it! It's so simple!' he announced with relief.

'What is it?' asked Hermione warily.

'We get Plum or Kitsy to get Dobby.'

'What?'

'Think about it, Hermione. The only ones who can get in and out of Hogwarts easily are house-elves and the last ones to see Dobby were Kreacher and Kitsy; Kitsy may know where Dobby's gone if he's not at school, so we just need to get to them first and they'll get him for us,' explained Harry animatedly.

'Harry,' said Hermione softly as though talking to a frightened animal, 'we don't know where Plum or Kitsy are.'

'Cassy's house,' he said immediately.

'That's not safe. People will have been looking there already.'

'You think they're going to care? Kitsy once gave me an entire catalogue of the chores he did around that house last Christmas and no one even lives there. They love that place, they're _house-_ elves,' he said. His brow had taken on an unfriendly tilt to it and Hermione was suddenly keenly aware Harry rather despised her at that time.

'Okay,' she said gently. 'Okay, let's give it a go if it will bring them back.'

He regarded her for a few seconds before he held out his hand. She looked at it quizzically.

'Bag,' he said shortly.

She handed over her beaded bag and his arm up to his shoulder immediately vanished inside. There was a quiet rattle and a dull thud before his hand re-emerged with a metal canister. Hermione suddenly realised that, once again, Harry's best plans really did occur under pressure.

* * *

A man with a large, sloping forehead posted a leaflet through the shining letterbox of number 16.

The woman beside him, far shorter with long, limp hair, shuffled behind him obediently, her hands clasped in front of her to clutch a small wad of papers. They entered the next garden and did exactly as they had before; the man held out his giant hand and the woman would press a leaflet into it before he then slipped it inside and they left again wordlessly.

Hermione was keenly aware of the eyes on her back as she handed Harry another paper. Despite their disguises, they had attracted the attention of the wizards on the street. Curtains fluttered and footsteps slowed to stare but no one had approached them yet. The only one to hold their gaze was Mrs Fairle, an elderly woman, who eyed them with such suspicion that she did not even turn away when they approached the long path up to the tall, imposing house that screamed "wizard".

Trails of ivy were deeply rooted in the grey stone, the vines reached all the way up to the guttering that lined the even darker slate roof. The windows were large and hatched, all curtains drawn without a flicker of movement behind them. The silver letterbox slapped shut noisily just to mask the heavy thud against the doormat below. A moment was spent waiting and then they moved to the next house and the next and then the next. Before long, the entire street had a garbled leaflet shoved through their door by two conservatively dressed, head-down strangers to their magical community.

Harry and Hermione shuffled a block away from the street before they vanished with a faint pop. They reappeared a village over amongst trees and bramble of a small park. They ducked amongst the leafy shelter, both very aware of how suspect it looked for two grown adults in peculiar clothing to emerge from the shadows of a children's playground in the late evening. They stayed crouched on the ground, an arm's length apart with no light chatter. There was not even a glance from Harry to Hermione, it was as if she was invisible, a ghost in their own secluded world, but then, she thought, he would probably be quite happy to speak to a ghost over her. He would probably rather have Malfoy there than her right then because, for all of his and Cassy's arguments over the last seven years, he had never done anything close to the level of abandonment she had done in one second.

Her mind was so occupied with conjuring heavy thoughts and darker feelings that she failed to notice the clank of a pan against the back of her head until she was half in the bush she had been hidden behind. She tugged her head to free her hair from the thin branches it had become wrapped around with no real reason to do so, her arms bound by her side by unseeable hands that gripped and held on tighter with every twitch of her muscles.

'Plum!' exclaimed Harry. 'It's me, Harry. Harry Potter.'

The little house-elf stared at him with scrutinising eyes. One of her bony hands was held in front of her, her fingers clawed.

'My name is Harry James Potter. On the 30th July 1992, you helped Cassy break me out of my aunt and uncle's house because she was angry I hadn't been answering her letters. Dobby had been taking my post. I immediately puked in the sink after my first time Apparating. The next day, Alphard made Cassy apologise to my relatives.'

He paused the moment Plum's large eyes lit up. Plum waved her hand and the binds on the pair were released. They both heaved deeply and rubbed their limbs while Plum bobbed in excitement and Kitsy lightly frowned behind her.

He tilted his head to one side. 'May I ask a question?'

'Of course,' smiled Hermione.

'Where is our mistress?' he asked. 'Why has she not summoned us here?'

Plum froze.

'I'm sorry, but we need your help to find her.' Harry peered over his shoulder. 'Not here, though. We need to go somewhere we can't possibly he overheard.'

The four ended up somewhere far from anywhere they had ever been. Neither Harry nor Hermione asked where they had been taken, it hardly seemed important as they stood beside a river bank, nestled between towering trees with only the faintest hands of the wind brushing their skin. Before the tale could even begin, Hermione began to sob. She sobbed harder when the little hands patted her with genuine distress that only a house-elf could hold for a witch. She expected them to stop when she blurted out that it was her fault their mistress was gone; they did not. Though her words were jumbled and punctuated by heaving breaths, the house-elves did not interrupt and nor did they accuse her. They nodded along with drooping ears and tearful eyes as if it was nothing short of what they had expected.

A stone sunk deep within Harry's soul at the sight. Hermione was a mess.

'Can you find Dobby for us?' he questioned when Hermione's words became little more than stuttering coughs.

Kitsy looked up from where he was patting Hermione's knee. 'I know where he can be found.'

'Can you get him and bring him to us tonight? Can you find us if we move?'

At this, Kitsy pursed his lips. 'Not unless you tell us. We work on assumptions unless summoned.'

Hurriedly, Harry summoned a piece of parchment and a quill from Hermione's bag. He ignored the sense of judgement being placed upon him by the house-elves at his ignorance and focused on scribbling down a general description of where the two could be found later.

'We'll find you,' he insisted. 'Make a noise, a – er – a crow and we'll find you. Can you do that?'

Again, Kitsy pursed his lips. It was Plum who piped in with a cheerful "yes" before they both disappeared almost noiselessly. The wind whistled through the branches of the trees and faint laughter could be heard beyond the thicket. They were entirely alone and the state of Hermione became entirely unavoidable to address.

He crouched beside her. She did not look up at him and he very much doubted she had heard him move at all over the shaky inhales. For a time, he stared. The anger was still present, he could not see it fading anytime soon because whatever the reason, whatever may have been agreed upon by the three of them, she had still left Cassy and Neville to the hands of those men. It was almost unforgivable, it should have been really, but the devastation she displayed he knew was real. Hermione was emotional, she could not hold it in as well his other friends may. She was happy when she was happy and she was sad when she was sad. It was simple; he felt no doubt that the messy crying was genuine.

A little voice in the back of his mind told him she deserved it, that it was good that she was suffering so, but still, with a heavy hand, he placed his palm flat across her back.

Hermione sniffed. 'We had a plan. We were supposed to go the Forest of Dean and wait for them there, whoever was separated. Ten days, we said. That should have been enough time to know if they could escape, but God, Harry, I can't wait ten days.'

'We're going tonight,' he said firmly. 'We're going to get them back tonight.'

* * *

 **So, this is my own little arc right here! I wanted to explore the wider world of Britain a little bit and introduce information differently, as always. So here it is. We're going to have a few chapters of separate stories going on, so I hope you'll like it.**

 **I tried to upload this yesterday, but the website was having none of it, so fingers crossed it works today!**

 **Thanks!**


	16. Narcissa's secrets

C. M. Black: Bones of a Doe

 **Chapter XVI: Narcissa's secrets**

There was only the barest second to register the faint pop of sound before a loud squeal broke through the still evening air. The crickets ceased chirping and the wind seemed to halt for the few seconds it took Harry to realise just what had attacked itself firmly around his waist. Despite his best efforts to detach Dobby, he could not calm the elf enough for him to listen. His mouth moved a mile a minute, over-excited to be needed and ecstatic to see that Harry was alive and well. His eyes shone in the dim light of the lanterns, not at all afraid of what he might be needed for.

'Dobby did not give us enough time to tell him what it was you wanted him for,' said Plum. She stood several feet away from them both and it was only in the darkness, now that his mind had calmed and his temper cooled, that he noticed the state of the tiny house-elf. She was always immaculate. She wore a pretty dress she had made herself and often an apron gloves fashioned to keep herself as presentable as one would expect Cassy's company to be. However, she looked drawn. Harry was not certain whether it was the poor lighting or not that created the patches of dark dirt on her floral dress and the light, shining streaks on her hands that looked like burns.

Kitsy looked better, if just from the way he still held his head high and his ears failed to droop low like hers.

'Plum, are you okay?' asked Harry over Dobby's excited cheering.

Plum's eyes widened and she shuffled on the spot. She smiled at him. 'Oh, yes, Mister Harry, Plum is fine, there is no need to ask.' Even in the darkness, her smile seemed strained.

At the words, Dobby detached himself from Harry and instead looked between the two as they spoke. He fell silent, his ears now flat against his head as even he realised the heaviness of the air around him.

'Plum,' began Harry again. 'Plum, is Cassy... she's still alive?'

For a second, no one moved but then Plum nodded jerkily.

'We're still connected,' added Kitsy.

'But?' asked Hermione.

Neither house-elf spoke. The only sound returned to the chirping of crickets and the rustle of leaves; the chill in the air was no longer due to the winter, it could not be for it travelled beneath the skin and into the bones of Harry and Hermione, deeper than any cold had the right to venture. Then, Plum's face began to crinkle and her resolve cracked like a hot plate in cold water. Immediately, tears began to flow but she did not cry noisily and if it had not been for Hermione's short gasp Harry was not sure he would have noticed the way her hands began to claw at each other in a nervous twist.

'No, no,' hushed Hermione. 'Shh, don't.'

She dropped to her knees in front of the pair and gripped Plum's little hands firmly in her own. Some of the markings were scars, several weeks old if not older, while others were fresh, marks made that day in desperate worry.

'Plum, you can't, you can't. Cassy would hate this,' she continued to whisper.

Plum sobbed and Kitsy turned his head away.

'She's mine to look after. She found _me_ and I was always meant to serve her. What do I do if I lose her? Where would I go?' cried Plum, her voice thick and uncontrolled.

Hermione looked heart-broken as she rubbed her thumbs up Plum's arms and her words of assurance were lost against the wet heaves. Beside them, Kitsy rocked on his feet, his arms folded tightly, eyes averted.

Dobby turned to Harry with wide, questioning eyes.

'We need your help, Dobby. We need to get into Malfoy Manor.'

'Dobby will always help Harry Potter, Harry Potter must know that, Sir,' began Dobby tentatively, 'but Dobby does not think it is wise of Harry Potter and friends to go there. If Sir recalls, the Malfoys are not great supporters of what Sir supports.'

'I know that, that's exactly why we need to go there,' he cut across.

Dobby continued to look concerned and alarmed.

'Look, my friends are there and I need to go and find them before anything can happen to them. Please, Dobby, you're the only one who knows where the house is. You can get us in.'

Slowly, Dobby nodded. 'I can, yes. Dobby can get you in. If Dobby may, Harry Potter, Dobby can always go to get your friends out with you being right here.'

'We can't ask you to do that,' said Hermione immediately.

'It's dangerous,' added Harry, 'we don't know that once we're in if we can get out again and we don't want you to risk your life for us.'

'I'm an elf,' stated Dobby, somewhat perturbed and very close to tears.

'We know, but please trust us on this,' said Hermione.

He shifted foot to foot and then nodded reluctantly. 'When do you want to leave?'

'Right now.'

It was not the high, wrought-iron gates that greeted them first, nor the immaculate lawns or the ornate knocker fixed to the painted black door. It was as dark as a warren in the little room, the light of the moon scarcely illuminated even the shiniest of the polished silver. Hooks hung from the walls with chains and nets upon them, large shelves covered two of the walls and just left room for the small, rectangular window to be visible above the mounds of bags and boxes. Harry was pressed almost chest to chest with Hermione, his back flush against a string of onions.

Hermione stepped back and knocked over a jar. She said, 'Where are we, Dobby?'

'In the pantry,' he replied, eyes narrowed at the thick door in front.

'Go, Dobby,' urged Harry before the house-elf could try and convince them otherwise once more. 'We'll be fine.'

Hermione's wand glowed a faint green. 'We can apparate out from here.'

She and Harry shared a nod. Dobby was left with no option but the leave, unable to truly deny Harry anything and unwilling to engage his wrath or hinder his self-appointed mission. As soon as he was out from underfoot, the pair worked on surveying the adjoining room, the kitchen. It was long and somewhat narrow, not wholly dissimilar to the size of the kitchen in Grimmauld Place. For a house as large as Malfoy Manor was sure to be it was small, but if it had only been operated by a house-elf and never a human then it was likely little thought had gone into how practical more room would be. There were glasses high on the shelves, only gleaming at the front, and two or three dozen plates were piled on the sides as though freshly cleaned.

A wave of trepidation hit Hermione; it had never crossed her mind that the Malfoy's may be entertaining guests, guests sure to be as twisted and dark and the side they aligned with.

The stairwell outside of the kitchen was alive with light, a yellow hue bled from atop the steep steps where the door was wide open and fresh white of an ornate ceiling peaked into view.

Harry signalled for Hermione to follow with a wave of his hand. Each step was carefully measured, gentle and silent. It seemed to take an unbearably long time to reach the very top step and fully reveal the extent of the Malfoys' entrance hall. It put Hogwarts to shame; the high ceilings seemed to travel on and on, seemingly only held in place by the huge chandelier with its thousand glittering crystals. Upon the walls were not moving portraits but trophies to celebrate the past, trinkets clearly brought in from abroad, ivory tusks and exotic plates encrusted with precious stones. A rug stretched out across the tiled floor, larger than the entire ground floor of the Dursleys' house.

The entrance hall was large and spacious and therefore did little to stem the voices that whispered through it. All the doorways were firmly closed except one and from within it sounded footsteps and hushed voices, so very close to where Harry and Hermione stood.

'That was a disaster, Lucius,' came the low tone of Narcissa Malfoy.

Harry and Hermione edged closer to the double doors and peaked their heads through the crack between them.

Narcissa was seated, slouched almost in a chair at a long dinner table. Lucius was stood and paced by the fire. His hair was longer and whiter than it had been last Harry saw him, his face was drawn and deep bags resided under his eyes that did no favours for his already pale skin. Harry felt a jolt of pleasure.

'The Dark Lord is losing patience with us,' continued Narcissa. 'How can we ever keep this up?'

'We have to, darling,' said Lucius.

'It's exhausting.'

'When the Dark Lord is successful, we will be rewarded for our efforts. Think of all we have done for him, we have given him our home, my wand - '

'Our son?' interjected Narcissa coldly.

Lucius halted and looked at his wife. 'Severus is protecting him, you know that.'

'I do,' she agreed and reclined in her seat.

'Severus will keep him out of trouble, he's keeping himself out of the way as it is too.'

'I heard about the punishment he gave to the Weasley girl,' said Narcissa. 'I wonder what his intentions were.'

Harry and Hermione quickly turned to each other, eyes wide. They pressed closer to the door.

'Being sent into the forest with the half-breed isn't nearly severe enough,' complained Lucius.

'It's up to the Headmaster to decide the punishment. After all, they did break into his office,' commented Narcissa.

Hermione gasped.

Lucius snorted. 'I've never seen your sister so happy as she was when the sword was moved to her vault. She's taken the utmost pride in having something of the Dark Lord's in her possession.'

Harry would have given a shout of delight had he been anywhere else. They finally had a location for the sword. His mind buzzed with possibilities and already half-formed ideas on how they could get it. Suddenly, he pursed his lips and his mind ground to a halt. Gringotts was one of the most secure buildings in Britain and the only know successful robbery was made by Quirrel with Voldemort attached to the back of his head for guidance. How were they supposed to ever get to find Bellatrix's vault?

'Don't antagonise her, Lucius, we need her on our side. She's our biggest asset right now,' said Narcissa. Her face was blank as though they had had that very conversation a hundred times before, all emotion spent on past conversations and the words left empty with little conviction. 'We opened our house to her. We must allow her to do what she pleases whilst she is here.'

Hermione paled. 'Bellatrix is here? In the house?'

'Shit,' said Harry. 'We need to go. They're not here.'

'How do you know?'

Harry flexed his left hand. 'I just do.'

With a hesitant nod from Hermione, they parted from the doorway. It was to stay and listen more to the private lives of the Malfoys, but they both knew that they were not there for that. Their struggles made Harry pleased, there was a sort of vindication in knowing the ones who had always advocated the lives they were living now hated it. Cassy would have been thrilled by their doubts, if not upset by their struggles.

Harry had never managed to grasp her relationship with her relatives. She had said, more than once, that it was due to his troublesome connections to his own, but Harry could not see how they differed that greatly to create the stark divide in their minds when it came to family. Not once had he seen a photograph of Cassy with Draco or Narcissa, though he knew they must exist for Cassy had told him as much. He knew of their holidays and their trips, the dinners and the endless games between their shared lessons as youngsters. Harry knew how Cassy had been taken in by Narcissa, the closest role model she ever had to a mother and yet still so far from the mark. He knew all of that, yet it hardly seemed real.

She rarely spoke of them. A story was confined to a sentence or two and usually only imparted when the knowledge benefited the situation. She did not openly reminisce, not even often about Alphard. He knew she must in her mind for she was far more emotional than she would ever admit, even to him. He knew she missed Draco, convinced that he could be helped and yet strong enough to let him go with his own choices, whether they damned him or not. He had never seen Draco return that affection. There was not any evidence that Cassy meant anything at all to them and that simply served to make Harry's anger flare.

Cassy could very well be locked in their garden shed and they wouldn't care at all, he thought bitterly.

He brushed away his imagination and concentrated on searching the next room. The first was the sitting room, large and cluttered to display as many objects as the entrance hall. The one after that was another dining room, smaller and more intimate than the last. It had photographs covering much of one wall and a fireplace stacked with wood and heavy drapes pulled to across the windows. It looked like it had been unused for some time.

'There must be a basement,' whispered Hermione. 'They wouldn't keep anyone upstairs, surely?'

'They're not here,' he repeated.

'How can you be sure?' asked Hermione heatedly.

'Because this would tell me.' Harry held up his very average hand.

Hermione stared, then her eyes widened. 'You tied the string to her! Harry, she'll kill you when she finds out!'

'Cassy said to use it for something important and she is important,' he snapped back. 'It leads straight out the front door.'

Just as they were about to head back into the hall there was a great whoosh of air. Green flames roared to life in the edge of Harry's vision. Without thinking, he pulled Hermione back and slammed the door shut before there was even a chance to see who had arrived in the entrance hall. He pressed his ear to the door. The wood was too thick to hear anything through. He pried it open just an inch and a loud voice flooded through.

'Honestly, Cissy, those Snatchers need to have their hands tied and their brains gauged out; it certainly wouldn't do them any harm for the amount they use them.'

'Have you had a tough day, Bella? You missed dinner.' Narcissa's voice was calm and soft against the shrill tone of her elder sister.

'I would never miss a dinner, Cissy, I would rather have been here than there. I had to deal with a disturbance up North. I did but for what good? There was nothing left.'

'What do you mean?' asked Narcissa tentatively.

'I mean that the entire camp has been burnt to the ground. There's nothing left. The idiots in charge have either absconded or are too cowardly to tell me. Lucky for them, my Lord sent Fenrir to sort them out,' explained Bellatrix with a sharp, loud laugh.

'Arson?' questioned Lucius.

'I doubt it. No one knows it was there. I have to speak to that imbecile Marcus now about who he's hired.' Bellatrix spat out the name, contempt-filled the air along with the unspoken promise of more than simply words with him. 'This needs to be corrected before my Lord returns. The consequences are not worth thinking about.'

There was a rustle and a clip of shoes across the tiles.

'Perhaps you should take a bath, you smell of smoke,' said Narcissa.

'I will in a minute. Tell me about the meeting first.'

The voices suddenly grew quiet. They had moved rooms. Before Hermione could utter more than his name, Harry had darted from the small dining room and around the staircase back to where they had stood once before. He waved Hermione over despite her sour expression. He edged closer to the open doorway; Bellatrix sat in the seat her sister had once occupied and Narcissa joined her husband in a statuesque pose in front of the fireplace, hands clasped and eyes at the ground.

'There is not much news to tell,' said Narcissa. 'There is very little known about the Order of the Phoenix's movements.'

'That's because without Dumbledore they're useless,' laughed Bellatrix.

'They have spotted the werewolf, though,' added Narcissa. 'Just not the Tonkses.'

'Did they kill him?'

'No.'

'What a pity.' Bellatrix tutted. 'Although, I do quite want that honour myself. So, there's been no news on any of the family traitors then? Nothing on Andromeda's filthy daughter or Sirius' devil spawn?'

'Nothing.'

'There's no news even of Sirius,' added Lucius swiftly. 'He's not been spotted with his friend at all.'

There was a second of blankness within Harry's head.

'I can't believe he escaped,' groaned Bellatrix.

Harry was certain his heart stopped beating. Sirius could not have escaped. He would have returned. Cassy would have known, certainly, if he had a place to hide for all these months. Sirius would never hide, never.

'If the Dark Lord were to find out...' Bellatrix shuddered.

Tendrils of pressure looped around Harry's arm. He jolted, his hand rose to pry the weight from him instantly but his fingers met another and his heart calmed at the sight of Hermione's contorted face. Her brow was dipped low, her lips pressed thin. She squeezed his arm.

Harry turned back to the conversation.

'This day has just been tedious. Perhaps I'll go an impose myself on the prisoner to unwind. That's always a laugh,' sighed Bellatrix.

Narcissa cleared her throat. 'Please shower first. All I can smell is smoke and besides, Pettigrew is down there with him at the moment.'

Bellatrix grunted in disgust. 'Fine.'

Harry scrambled backwards. There was nothing to hide behind. There was nothing near them. Hermione tugged him sharply backwards, all the way back to the very door they had emerged from in the first place. She threw him inside and he staggered down the stairs whilst she pulled the door to. A thin beam of light climbed the wall, just wide enough for Hermione's eye to peer out of.

'Harry!' she cried in a loud whisper. 'Harry! Mrs Malfoy's coming this way!'

'What?' he hissed. He fished frantically for his wand in his jeans. Hermione already had hers to hand and after a silent flick she turned on her heel and shoved Harry down the remaining stairs. His feet clattered and stomped as he hurled himself down every step. Hermione was at his heels. The next door was thrown open and they whirled around in search of somewhere to hide.

'Under the table – quickly, quickly!'

They both dived beneath a small counter no bigger than an average desk. It was flush against the wall with barely enough space for one let alone two grown adults. Their feet and elbows connected at awkward angles and Harry struggled to tuck his long legs in the cramped space at all. They stilled the moment the scratch of the latch sounded and Hermione summoned the stool from across the room. It skidded into place in front of them just as Narcissa's toes came into view.

She paused in the doorway.

She must have heard the chair, thought Harry, shit.

Then, she took a step inside and passed their hiding place.

They both breathed in relief.

Across the kitchen, Narcissa opened the refrigerator. From their angle, neither could see what she was doing as she moved from one counter to another. However, from the clinking and the rustling, it sounded as though she was preparing food. Harry frowned. There was a pile of pots and pans by the sink, they had clearly already eaten. It crossed his mind that perhaps it was for Bellatrix but he dismissed it. She was bathing and he very much doubted what sounded like a sandwich would be good enough for her. He eyed Hermione. Her gaze remained fixed on Narcissa's feet.

She was only in the kitchen for a few minutes and she left as quickly as she had entered.

As soon as Narcissa was ascending the stairs, Hermione turned to Harry. 'We need to follow her.'

'What?' he asked.

'We need to see where she's taking that food,' said Hermione as she ungracefully dragged herself out from their tangle of limbs.

'You think she's up to something? I mean, yeah, they've just eaten - '

Hermione was not listening. She held up a hand to silence him and pressed a finger to her lips before she crept from the room.

They followed Narcissa up the stairs and across the empty hall, up the next flight of stairs and down another corridor. She paused to look over her shoulder. Another staircase and two more corridors later there was seemingly nowhere to go when Narcissa finally stopped at a narrow window. She looked out across the immaculate gardens, the Sun having set sometime before, now fully night with the crescent moon high in the sky. She peered behind her. Harry and Hermione ducked back behind the furthest corner.

A low, long scrape resonated through the air.

Hermione reached into her beaded bag and pulled forth a small hand mirror. Slowly, carefully, she poked the mirror around the corner. Narcissa stood still very much alone but instead of a window in front of her, it was a staircase leading one floor farther up. Despite having only one hand free, Narcissa navigated the ladder with ease. A second or two later, the ladder was pulled up back into the tiny hatch and she was gone.

Harry leant out. Hermione pulled him back.

'Not yet,' she whispered. 'What until she comes back down. Then we'll go up and look.'

They kept looking over their shoulders for an agonisingly long time. With every passing minute, the paranoia grew. It seemed inevitable that at any moment Lucius or Bellatrix should turn a corner and find them huddled beside a potted plant that hissed every few minutes. Carefully, they listened for the slightest movement. No footsteps thudded downstairs. No floorboards creaked. There was nothing until the scrape of the hatch flung open.

Behind a nearby door, Harry and Hermione watched Narcissa pass without a plate in hand.

'What do you think is up there?' asked Hermione.

'It could be nothing, but we'd be stupid not to check,' replied Harry lowly. He jumped at the string that hung from the ceiling and wrenched it down. Hermione kept her back to him, wand readied and pointed down the hall.

'You go, I'll stay here,' said Hermione.

'Shout if you need anything, yeah?'

'I will.'

The ladder creaked beneath Harry's weight. Every few rungs were covered in dust. There was no light above him and he was greeted with a sudden icy chill. The winter air was unbearable, the house had been so warm with burning fires and heated floors that he had forgotten how grey the skies were and how frost settled every morning.

He lit his wand.

A few boards were missing, the insulation beneath exposed. The walls were painted but scuffed with black lines from moved boxes and thick with heavy cobwebs. Harry stepped around the taped boxes; his focus homed in on the single most peculiar object in the room. A little door. It was only four-foot tall and had no handle. Had it not been for the bolt straight across its centre then Harry thought he might very well have missed it. He crouched, ear pressed against it.

Silence.

He spared a glance towards his exit, though his mind was already made up. With a flick of his wand, the door began to whine as the lock shifted away and left only a blank panel. He pressed his hand into the very middle and pushed. The door swung back lazily to reveal a tiny room with a low sloped ceiling, a single lantern, the plate of sandwiches Narcissa had just held, and, most strangely, the wide-eyed face of Sirius Black.

* * *

 **Surprise! Have some more Black family drama.**

 **Thank-you for the lovely reviews, I'm glad you're enjoying it - and yay it didn't take me a million years to update this time!**

 **Thanks!**


	17. The Northernmost post

C. M. Black: Bones of a Doe

 **Chapter XVII: The Northernmost post**

Cold air stung the skin and hazed the mind for a precious few seconds; it took Cassy a moment to realise the cacophony was not a thousand beating wings or a thunderous applause within an amphitheatre but rather the sound of blood rushing in her ears. She could not tell if the sluggish confusion was due to the rough, unexpected jerk of Appiration or the pain in her forrid from the hand tangled in her ginger hair, the way it had forced her head to the side and slammed it upon the damp bark of the nearest tree before she had even a chance to comprehend it.

Something crunched beneath her feet – not leaves, she realised, but snow. They were somewhere north, somewhere the cold would leave blisters upon the skin within the hour, somewhere far colder than British nature had any right to be.

Her heels dug into the ground for only a moment before she was heaved up by her thickly coated bicep by a large, squeezing paw. She jerked her head towards him and was then keenly aware that the confusion very well may have been the bump on her head if the sudden lurch of the world was any indication. Everything twisted and turned and then cleared in a moment of painful clarity.

Ahead was not Death Eater headquarters. Tall cast-iron railings protruded from the fresh snow like weeds from a bed of beautiful flowers. The sharp points at the tips seemed to almost touch the grey clouds above, but they could not for spikes that sharp would pierce and there was certainly no ray of sunlight cast upon them.

A faint pearlescent sheen glittered above; what warding it meant Cassy could not currently discern. The pounding in her head was growing with every step and each turn too far was seen as an attempt to escape. She was pulled harder and tougher each time. The moment she stepped through the gate, the chill turned from skin blistering to bone-shattering cold. It was as though water had been poured over her, the sensation dripped from her head to her toes, inside her stomach and forced the warm air from her lungs. She gasped.

With difficulty, she kept her head high, determined to search every corner of the site, to know everything there was to know. Only, there was little to see. Beyond the fence were hills, tall and mountainous with peaks that vanished and a thick coverage of trees. The complex itself seemed to have been built solely from magic, there were no loose nails to hold the crooked boards together with the occasional sheet of joint-less wood she could identify was probably transfigured rather than genuine. There were no windows down the first hall, only harsh lights that flickered above, but the second corridor gave a different life to the compound than Cassy ever wanted to see.

There were people in the courtyard. Everyone was dressed the same with numbers painted boldly across their backs. Circling above them were Dementors.

Suddenly, Cassy understood the cold. There was no life here.

'What's that?' she asked, despite herself.

'That's where you go if you're naughty,' the man replied condescendingly. 'Want a turn?'

The door ahead was already open and voices were already spilling out. A man sat on a large chair, a desk pushed to one side with stacks of marked papers on top. He turned to them first before the other occupants did, his eyes already alight with mirth; when he saw her, his eyes glowed with something more.

' _Oh_ ,' he said as he rose from his seat. 'What do we have here?'

At his question, the other man turned. His face was gnarled and worn, already mangled further in a twisted snarl. He settled his one seeing eye on Cassy and grunted a laugh.

'Look, you've got a friend.' His voice was rough as though he had screamed for every scar upon his skin. The words hardly mattered though, Cassy had already locked eyes with Neville.

He stared at her in horror, mouth open and eyes wide despite his furrowed brow. It appeared as though he wanted to speak, but only a squeak left his lips. His captor laughed.

The first man leant in towards Cassy's face, his breath on her lips. 'What's your name, darling?'

'Susan Bones,' she replied steadily.

He turned, still as close to her face as before, to peer at her from the side. 'How old are you, Susie?'

If Cassy leant an inch closer, she could bite the nose off his slimy face. For a second, she considered it.

'Seventeen,' she lied. Cassy had no idea when Susan's birthday was or if she was seventeen or eighteen by then, she just knew to pick a different age than her own.

He hummed.

'So, we have Susan Bones and Ritchie Coote,' he said slowly, tasting their names. 'Ernest, check the registers, see what it brings up about Coote. It's not a name I've heard of. Bones, however – didn't a Bones get killed last year for refusing to join You-Know-Who?'

He backed away and circled between Cassy and Neville, slow and calculating. His hands were clasped behind his back when he eventually stopped. He smiled.

'Search Mr Coote and take him to the courtyard. I want a word with Susie,' he said.

Neville growled.

The man laughed. 'Susie and I are just going to chat. Calm down.'

There was panic in Neville's eyes. Cassy locked her gaze with his as the colossal man who had him held proceeded to drag him from the room. She tried to communicate that it would be okay, that he needed to calm himself and take care, but she knew she could not truly deliver that message with her eyes alone, especially not when a tangle of fear was already woven in her own stomach. Her wand had been ripped from her grip the moment they reappeared; her bag was banished before they could even reach her back in the forest. The knives in her boots weighed heavily against her ankles. She wanted to reach down and grasp just one blade so there was something between herself and the rest, but she could not reach them being held so tightly by the Snatcher beside her. So, that left only her brain.

'Sit,' said the man.

'Who are you?' she asked.

'Sit,' he said again but this time he did not wait for her to move. He flicked his wand and a chair shot from the corner of the room and straight into the back of her knees. She fell into it with a grunt. The Snatcher lunged forwards to pin either wrist to the narrow chair arms as rough, tanned ropes appeared to encircle the extremities with an unforgiving grip. The rope burnt as it wound around and around so quickly, over her timeless watch with a crushing hand that pressed the icy metal deep into her tender skin.

The Snatcher was waved away. The door locked behind him.

Cassy hissed at him, snarled and writhed in the seat.

He pulled a chair opposite and sat down, elbows on his knees and his head tilted curiously.

'Why aren't you at school, Susie? It's illegal now not to go, y'know?' he asked.

He did not press for an answer and Cassy did not have an excuse. There was nothing that would detract from the fact she had broken the law and, from the vacant look on his tanned face, she knew he did not really care for her answer either way. He stared at her in a peculiar manner; his position shifted every few seconds as though searching for something just out of sight. He stood and took a wide step towards a large cabinet on the other side of the little office. He hummed a familiar tune whilst he rummaged through a large stack of folders and loose papers.

Cassy twisted her neck as far as she could, unwilling to let him out of her sight. Behind her was only the door and cabinet. There were no signs or notes to suggest where they were or what was the fate of those held there. There was nothing in the room that suggested much of anything, except that the man, whoever he was, was in charge of whatever paperwork needed to be done. It was clear he was in charge; she and Neville had been brought straight to him and he had given orders on what was to happen next. Yet, he looked unassuming. Circular glasses glinted in front of his dark eyes, his hair was well cared for and he lacked many of the scars the other men had had.

He turned back to her with a small noise of triumph. A piece of parchment was held in his hand.

'I was struck by a sudden thought when I saw you, Susie. You see, you're very pretty; in fact, I think you're even more beautiful with dark hair.'

There was nothing but dead air. Cassy's stomach clenched.

'I'm not sure you've been telling me the truth,' he continued conversationally. 'I think you look an awful lot like this girl.'

Bold letters flashed. She knew what the paper was before she had a chance to see more than the tip of the title. Inwardly, she cursed. She was in trouble.

He held the paper up to her face. It read:

 _WANTED_

 _CASSIOPEIA BLACK_

 _Active member of terrorist group Order of the Phoenix_

 _Associate of UNDESIRABLE No. 1_

 _EXTREME CAUTION advised_

 _REWARD_

 _Dead or Alive_

Beneath her name was the very same photograph Umbridge had had tucked in her folder.

She was in very big trouble.

'I don't know what colour your eyes normally are, maybe they are green, but your hair is certainly not ginger, is it? It's dark in this photo. What have you done to conceal yourself, I wonder?'

'That's not me,' attempted Cassy. 'My name is Susan, that's not me.'

'Twins, then? Long lost sisters separated by war and tragedy? You could write a novel.'

The man circled behind her and just like the one before him, tangled his hand in Cassy's thick hair. He gave it a sharp tug. Her neck bent at an uncomfortably steep angle, her vision suddenly confined to the wooden beams on the low ceiling. There was a slow trail of something through her hair, a finger or a wand perhaps, before he clicked his tongue.

' _Revelio_ ,' he said.

If Cassy had not been concentrating so furiously on maintaining a good cover, she certainly would have forgotten to breathe. Her heart stuttered for a doubtful second; her fists clenched a fraction harder. He only needed to see her black hair to know for sure it was her. He would call the Death Eaters and she would be at their mercy, bound to a chair in an unknown part of the country, with Neville only on the other side of a wall. He would know she was dead, for certain. The billowing black cloaks would be undeniable. Next would be him. The moment they realised she came with a friend they would grab him from the snowy wasteland outside and demand to know where Harry was, what they had been doing, everything about the last few months. Then, they would most likely torture him like they did his parents, cackling at his pained writhes. He would die, and Cassy would be unable to do anything about it all because of a photograph.

Yet, there was no immediate call for help. There was no shout to contact Voldemort. He did not even cheer in triumph. Rather, he hummed again.

'I told you,' said Cassy quickly. She was tempted to simply keep quiet as not to antagonise him, but if she wanted to be someone else then and there, she knew she had to act like it, no matter how unnatural it felt and no matter that he senses screamed it was illogical and futile to keep talking.

' _Aparecium.'_

There was a sharp tug on her scalp. He peered down at her. She blinked back up at him, eyebrows knitted down in a wince.

'Up,' he commanded. The ropes on her wrists released, only to be drawn together immediately. Her arms bent at awkward, uneven angles that had her elbows digging into her sides. The hand left her hair, only to grab her arm and drag her from the chair.

Cassy stumbled; the man did not stop. He flung open the door and pulled her into the hallway littered with thin lines of intruding sunlight. They stretched across the floor and up the walls, long bars of white light that became more and more infrequent the further they walked. The bright lamps faded out a time ago. With no windows in sight, the light from the joints in the wall was all the light Cassy was offered and yet the hall was not black as night, it was simply dull, a muted brown that seemed to hold its own eerie glow.

Each door they passed was shut tightly. No sound escaped them, no murmur of voices or whizzing of spells. There was nothing except the sound of their footsteps and the audible throbbing in Cassy's skull. She could no longer even hear the sounds of the snow crunched outside from traipsing feet, or the whimpers of those in the courtyard surrounded by Dementors.

Eventually, they halted outside a door much larger than the rest. It was wider than a train carriage and harsh, white light flooded out the inch gap between it and the floor. The grate beneath the door should have shined but it was too tarnished to do more than glisten. The edges were flecked with brown, rust or otherwise, and the hole beneath was too deep to see the bottom of the drainage to really tell the cause.

The door slid open noisily.

Cassy squinted. For a moment, she could not see. A blinding brightness stunned her. She blinked rapidly and pushed away the resurfaced pain in her head in an attempt to gauge where she was. The floor and walls were tiled. Large cabinets lined the walls, stuffed with drawers and instruments, unlike anything she had seen before. Strange devices whirled and clicked on the counter. A thick book on a trolley was held open by a metal tray littered with gleaming utensils. Even from the distance, Cassy could see the illustration half-drawn onto the awaiting page and the scribbled notes all around it.

In the centre of the room were a man and a woman. They were both dressed in lime green, so bright against the pale tiles, with a stitched insignia of a bone and wand crossed over their left breast. It was as though two healers had been plucked straight from St. Mungo's Hospital and dropped into the dilapidated ruin in the middle of nowhere. Neither seemed to mind. Their faces did not show fear. They merely seemed curious, intrigued even, at the sight of them.

'Mr. Marcus,' they greeted together.

The man beside Cassy, Marcus, shoved her forward. 'I need you to get rid of the concealment on her hair.'

'Oh?' said the woman. Her hair was tied back in a neat bun and revealed a pleasant face. She could not have been more than ten years Cassy's senior. 'And why's that?'

'Doesn't matter. Just don't kill her and don't mark her face. I need it.'

'Put her down and we'll take a look,' said the middle-aged man. He was already stretching plastic gloves over his hands when Marcus heaved Cassy towards a conspicuous, sloped, metal chair.

Cassy dropped her weight towards the floor. Marcus grunted and gave a sharp kick to her leg, but she refused to stand back up. The earlier twinge of fear was nothing compared to the raw panic inside her bones now. Her identity no longer mattered. She would rather be killed outright by Voldemort than allow those two near her - twisted healers with their dirty hands, stained from doing anything they pleased, immoral creatures with the promise of reward over reprimand. They were not healing, they were extracting thoughts, feelings, magic, blood, flesh. They take. They _take take take._

'Get up now!' roared Marcus. All pretences of soft-words and a calm mind were gone.

Cassy could not stop the cry that crawled out of her throat. His boot dug into her stomach.

'Get up!'

If she was going to die either way, she would at least make it difficult. She remained limp on the ground. Even another heel buried in her ribs did not dissuade her position. It took a spell and two pairs of hands to heave her resisting body into the chair. Her hands remained bound as a thick straps came over across her arms and ribs and another fixed her feet to the extended legs as she kicked.

'You'll hurt yourself,' the woman said sagely.

Cassy turned her head away.

'I'll immobilise you, then.'

She fell still. She took a deep breath and steadied herself. She was going to die. It seemed inevitable now. There was no way out of the room. She could barely move her head more than two inches upwards, her hands were bounds twice and even her feet were no longer of use to her. She did not want to die at eighteen. It had been a joke amongst her friends that a Black always dies young, that Cassy, for all her brains, would be the one who inevitably did something to cause her death first; it was a joke that Harry had not found particularly funny. He had told her once it reminded him of when they were in the Ministry of Magic. She had closed her eyes, stood tall and settled on allowing Voldemort to kill her. That held the promise of a quick demise. Now, as she stared up at a water-stained ceiling, flanked by people too keen to keep her alive, it seemed painful. Death seemed so utterly painful.

She screamed. A fire ignited through her skull, crawled across her scalp and ran down her neck. It was as though a thousand tiny hooks had sunk into her skin and tugged all at once. She gritted her teeth and screwed her eyes shut.

The healers murmured among themselves.

The pain had been instant, unexpected and like nothing she had felt before. It was not like the Crutiatus Curse that twisted every nerve; she felt like she was ablaze until the heat ran so hot it became cold and she felt not much of anything anymore.

There had to be something I can do, she told herself on a reel. Each time a different pain tugged at her head, she repeated the words as calmly and slowly as she could. Each time her heart spiked and a shout rose from her lungs, she held it down with the same mantra. _There had to be something_.

Her open eyes seemed to surprise the healers. Between each attempt to cleanse her hair, she peered around the room. There had to be something, anything she could use. If she could just reach her ankle she could get her knives, cut her restraints and take a wand. That had been the plan. She had wanted to wait until Marcus had his back turned long enough not to fight her, but the opportunity never came. Now they were useless.

She needed something.

The startling lights above flickered.

'Hang on a minute, Margot,' said the man. He put down the veil of green liquid onto the metal trolley. In its place, he picked up a long, narrow pair of tweezers. Two fingers came to rest on either side of Cassy's eye. 'Careful not to move now, or you'll be blind.'

Stiff and unbreathing, Cassy could only watch as the instrument came closer and closer to her. The tweezers opened and the points came to rest on the delicate surface of her eyeball. Gently, they moved away again. Clasped between them was a small, coloured film.

'Blue eyes,' Margot hummed. 'Nicely spotted, John.'

John moved around to the other side. He did the same again and popped the contact into a little pot of solution Margot had retrieved from a cupboard.

'So, what colour is your hair then?' he asked conversationally.

Cassy ignored him.

'Marcus certainly seems to think you're hiding something, but whatever you've used be sure to send thanks to the creator because it's a stubborn dye.'

John did not seem at all put out by the unshifting colour but instead rather excited by it. Fred and George would be proud, if Cassy ever got to tell them.

She continued to peer around the room as much as her pain-addled mind would allow. She wanted to shout, to kick out and wrench the prying hands away from her with every tug and poke, and even more so when the needles appeared on the tray. The pain gave way to a long, shrill ring in her ears. The conversation dulled. The world muted. Everything no longer stung as though her skin was combed by serrated knives, it ached in little bursts like popping pustules of pain somewhere far away from where she was.

There was no way out.

'All done!'

Cassy blinked. Then, she blinked again until her vision cleared of the white haze it had become.

'So, your hair's black,' said Margot. 'With skin as pale as yours, I thought you'd be blonde.'

When Cassy looked around, she realised John was gone. Slowly, she turned to stare at Margot, her words filtering through her mind sluggishly.

'Oh.'

 _Oh?_ Cassy cursed herself. Even to her slow thoughts, that response sounded stupid. She shook her head and stubbornly ignored the swirling, thumping pain that thudded through the base of her skull and down her spine. Her feet felt numb for only a moment, their presence so weak compared to the overwhelming demand of attention from her head. The skin of her scalp itched and burnt. Whatever they had done to reveal her hair left a pin-prick of pain for every single strand on her scalp. Her eyes were dry, so terribly dry that each blink had her eyelid scraping the delicate surface of her retina.

Still, she turned when the door opened and scowled deeply, defiantly, and daringly at Marcus. With every step he took towards her, he gave a slow, deliberate clap. The grin on his face was unbearable. Cassy wished she had just bitten him earlier, at least to detract from the brightness of his vile victory.

She waited for him to move, for him to speak and condemn her. All he needed to do was to call for the Death Eaters and Voldemort would be there in an instant; he would demand to see her – her and Neville – and would not rest until they told him about Harry's whereabouts. That would never happen. She was confident of that. They would both die. It was an easy choice, really. She knew they would both rather die.

I'm sorry, she thought, I'm so sorry, Neville.

Marcus only waved his hand towards the ceiling. The bonds that held her to the chair were suddenly loosened. He looked at her expectantly.

'Stand up then,' he said as though she had missed her cue. 'C'mon, the public is waiting for your last speech.'

He laughed to himself. Neither Margot nor John seemed entertained by his theatrics; neither seemed to have paid the slightest bit of attention to him and were focused on cleaning their instruments and writing notes in the thick book on the metal tray.

Cassy swung her legs over the edge of the chair. Her hands were still bound by the original rope, reddened and weeping from her unconscious struggles.

Marcus smiled at the Healers and placed a hand on the small of Cassy's back as he led her from the room. All heat was gone once more. The darkened corridor held less threat than the light now. She stared with narrowed eyes when they emerged at a narrow doorway where snow had already begun to drift in gently onto the wooden boards. He pushed her through.

It was darker than it had been, though the exact time was indiscernible. The clouds above were so thick there was no chance to even glimpse the position of the Sun. The light remained grey and cold against the dark wood of the structure. The iron fences were not as tall as they had looked from a distance, easily climbable if given ten seconds, through the twisting barbs at the top may prove difficult to overcome. The snow where she stood was untouched. The snow some twenty-feet away was mangled and brown, overturned by many feet again and again as they plodded like cattle in a wide circle, directionless and unthinking.

There was only one face that turned to look at Cassy and Marcus. No one else peered at the new colour in their peripheral vision, no one reacted at all except Neville. He stared at Cassy and she stared back. His eyes were blown wide, so visible even from the distance. She knew he knew. He knew everything that she did – this was it.

Blood trailed down his face and purple marked where it had not done so before. His nose looked broken with a little lump at the side of the bridge and clotted blood beneath it. An eye was swollen, though not shut, and looked no worse for wear than his knuckles that were coloured and split.

He kept his eyes on Cassy as she passed him. Each step of hers was deliberate, confident and pointed. She knew it was for nothing, really, there would be no shame in showing fear but she had none to give them. The satisfaction they would draw from knowing they had beaten her down was too much to even bear thinking about, it was too much to even consider and so her body simply did not produce fear; she was afraid without fear. She was going to die, yes, but she was not going to fear it. She would not cower. She would not beg. They had not gotten the best of her, even if they took her life.

All movement in the courtyard ground to a halt. Every worn face now stared. There were only half-a-dozen robed people amongst the prisoners. They stood at the very edges of the field, many behind fences, although a few were intermingled, wands out and faces glaringly clean. Above them all floated figures Cassy would rather have not met again. Their cloaks billowed without wind and they saw without eyes. The Dementors high above them all, curious yet distant.

Marcus threw open his arms. 'Today, we have a special treat, a guest of the utmost esteem!'

A sharp kick to the back of the legs forced Cassy to her knees.

She almost smirked.

'Our little community gets to play host to a wonderful event: the capture of Cassiopeia Black.' He paced around her. 'And, what's more, her death.'

Cassy closed her eyes. It was cold, so cold that the pain in her head had begun to fade. There was an emptiness all too familiar to her, the echo of withdrawal she had felt in her Third Year at the hands of the creatures above her, such a pleasant and unpleasant sensation wrapped into an unfortunate bundle of incoming death. She had felt worse, though. Fifth Year had been much worse. The chill was beyond bone deep; it had infiltrated her very soul and made almost any action difficult, mechanical, and insincere. The sorrow she had felt was unbearable. The upheaval of her life within a few short months was devastating and she had been so determined not to let it show that she had put such strain on her friendships and almost killed a boy. Now her father was missing, presumably dead by this point – she had, after all, not been able to check in with Kreacher for several months now – and soon Neville was to die too. It only seemed fitting that she die with sadness.

Her eyes snapped open.

Ridiculous! She repeated the thought over and over again. It was absurd. Cassy would not accept that. She shook away the intruding thoughts, keenly aware they were not her own. The Dementors above swirled again, their pace faster now as if sensing her resistance. She would not have her sanity sucked out of her so easily, not because of memories and certainly not because of any headache those horrible Healers may have caused. She needed to focus, she needed not to give in to her desire to sleep, despite her legs very much having already lost much of their feeling to the snow. No matter what pain racked her body, she refused to submit.

Marcus was still speaking. His words seemed distant no matter how hard she tried to concentrate.

She breathed in and out. She needed to get rid of the Dementors. If she could just get rid of them, then she could think straight and she could get out of there. She knew she could. She just needed a chance to think. Yet, the weight of despair kept building upon her shoulders.

 _Everyone was dead – Alphard was gone because of her – Sirius was gone because of her – Neville was -_

Neville was alive. He was very much alive with bright brown eyes full of wonder and warmth that she knew she did not deserve. He was always waiting for her to do something spectacular and even at her worst found something good in what she had to offer. He had forced her to be who she was then, he had made her more open, happier and bolder. It was him who saw past everything he knew about her name and saw her for who she could be not for who she was. He was there. He was still there.

A gasp echoed through the dead air. It was followed by a shout that was smothered by a fierce, puncturing growl.

Cassy opened her eyes she had not realised she had shut. In front of her, stood tall and proud with slicked back ears and pulled lips was a ghostly white dog – her dog, her Patronus. Its head whipped around the courtyard, eyes narrowed dangerously, nose wrinkled and long fangs protruding. A glow surrounded it; a warmth unlike anything else she had ever felt touched Cassy's skin. The Dementors were spinning, flying in all directions except for towards them. She felt life in her bones.

Immediately, Cassy kicked out her right leg and turned herself to grip the long handle of the knife in her boot. It twisted in her grip and the ropes that bound her wrists fell apart as though made merely of water. She flung herself to her feet, stumbled at the raging pressure in her skull and the lack of blood in her feet, but she remained standing.

Everything had happened so quickly that Marcus had barely had time to react. He shouted something, a command to get her, but it was only a second before he was on the ground. Cassy had rather wished to put her knife through his shoulder and see how he liked the pain – a rather morbid thought a small voice in her mind responded – but she did not have the chance. Neville was on top of him without delay. His bruised fists slammed into the tanned skin again and again, until his Marcus lay as nothing more than a moaning heap. In his free hand, Neville held Marcus' wand.

'Cassy!' he cried and flung himself the five or so steps between them. 'Are you okay?'

'What did we help Hagrid smuggle out of the country?' she shot ambiguously,

'A Norwegian Ridgeback,' he replied without delay. 'First year.'

Cassy deflated. 'We need to go.'

The Patronus had left Cassy's side, if only to circle the grounds snarling and barking at the other wizards who patrolled the perimeter. No longer were the prisoners simply standing in wait. They were running, charging, screaming. Several were on top of the nearest guard, wrangling his wand away and others were scaling the fences without fear of the looming creatures above.

'Wait,' said Neville. He held out the wand. ' _Expecto Patronum!'_

Immediately, a Ram burst forth. It kicked its feet and galloped through the air towards a group still cowering in a distant corner.

'We have to give them a chance to get out,' he said. 'I know we can't take them, but we can't leave them either.'

'Can you summon our wands?' asked Cassy.

Marcus made to roll over and Cassy kicked him.

A second later, their wands were flying towards them. Cassy grabbed hers from the air and revelled in the familiar feeling of knotted wood beneath her fingertips. She waved her wand over her face and felt much of the ache lift until it was little more than a bone-deep tiredness.

'Right,' she muttered, 'let's tear this prison down.'

Neville grinned.

* * *

 **Well, the undesirable population had to go somewhere, right? Dementors are the worst creatures in _Harry_ _Potter_ by far - if a person is emotionally beaten down then it makes anything almost impossible. I assume Voldemort must have used them for something like this.**

 **Let me know what you think. The reviews last time were lovely.**

 **Thanks!**


	18. Stalling

C. M. Black: Bones of a Doe

 **Chapter XXVIII: Stalling**

'Sirius?'

The words came out as nothing more than a whisper. A noise too loud may have broken whatever spell had allowed Harry to see his Godfather, whole and healthy, one last time. It looked as though he had been taken only yesterday with clear skin and bright eyes. It would be possible to think so had it not been for the months of unshaven beard that grew on his angular face and his hair, once short and clean was dull and long like it had not been for a year now.

The image stared back and blinked. A frown marred Sirius' usually cheerful face, an expression that reminded Harry achingly of Cassy who was nowhere to be found.

Panic welled inside him. If this was Sirius, then how was he going to explain where Cassy was?

'Harry?' said the man. 'You and Cassy were given a package from me on the first day of fifth year, who owned it before you?'

'My dad,' said Harry automatically. 'The two-way mirrors from when you were at school.'

There was a heartbeat and then Sirius launched himself at Harry. He wrapped his long arms around him and dragged him in close. Harry did not even flinch at the unwashed clothes or the slick grease of his unkempt hair, he clung back with equal desperation, happiness, and confusion.

'What are you doing here, Sirius?' he asked, his words muffled and nose buried into the older man's slim shoulder.

'It's complicated,' he said hurriedly. 'What are you doing here? Hello, Hermione - where's Cassy?'

Harry stiffened. He knew he needed not to, he tried not to, but it happened all the same. The moment his shoulders seized, Sirius knew.

'Harry, where is Cassy?' His voice left no room for games, no patience for awkwardness or uncertainty.

'We're here to look for her.'

Harry startled at Hermione's voice and silently thanked her for her bold honesty.

She continued: 'We got separated when we were attacked by Snatchers, we thought that if they recognised her and Neville then this would be the most likely place they'd take her.'

'But she's not here,' he stated.

'We noticed Mrs Malfoy acting oddly, so we followed her -'

'Right, tell me later. If they're not here then we have no reason to be either,'

'She's not here, but we need to stick around a while longer,' said Harry firmly.

Sirius turned to Harry with haunted eyes. They questioned him, demanded an explanation he knew he could not have and filled the silence with a simmering rage. Harry turned to Hermione.

'You heard what Bellatrix said – there are people in the basement.'

He knew she was not in the basement either. The red string on his around his wrist had never deviated from the Malfoys' front door. It looped and snaked around furniture and hid amongst the grains of the floor, its width no larger than a strand of embroidery cotton, yet Harry knew it led only away from the manor. He wondered if Cassy knew he had tied the thread to her own hand, or if she had genuinely expected him to use it for the task at hand, to tie to a Horcrux or the Snitch in case they were ever separated. She most likely had; she never quite realised what she meant to him.

Hermione loosened Sirius' restrains. An iron loop on the floor had tethered him in place with a piece of rope around his ankle. It was brand new, as if recently replaced, and Harry had no doubt it was because Sirius had been tirelessly working to free himself for the past few months.

Sirius was surprisingly steady on his feet. Although his clothes were now loose from wear, he had only lost a little weight. A plate of food was still beside him; a thick sandwich of meat and salad rest upon a silver plate and a large jug of water and a single glass sat on the small tray beside a thin mattress.

Harry eyed the quarters warily. If it had not been for the secret question then he would have been adamant that this could not have been the real Sirius. There was no logical reason in his mind the Malfoys would have him stowed away in the highest room of the house with vague comforts and a handmade meal. Yet, he stood there in front of him, very much his Godfather.

Hermione offered him her wand. Sirius frowned at her and barked a harsh laugh.

'I'm not apparating away,' he said.

He had nowhere to go. Everywhere once safe was gone.

'We can meet you somewhere,' she tried. 'Please, Sirius, you need to rest.'

Hermione turned to Harry with a pleading look. His own gaze wavered before they hardened on Sirius. He wanted him there. He did not want to consider the man leaving so soon with no plan and no means of communication. It was as though he would disappear, evaporate in a whirl of colour and a faint crack as everything did and Harry would never see him again. At least if they were together, he knew he was there, right there beside him.

'Come on. We need to be careful, Bellatrix is lurking somewhere,' he said.

They reached the top of the next set of stairs when her voice resonated through the halls. She was speaking to someone, their voice quiet, with barbed words and a daring tone. She laughed and the other made a spluttering sound like a deflating Quaffle.

Sirius sunk low to the floor, expressionless.

'What is it?' asked Hermione anxiously.

'Peter.'

'Sirius, we can't,' said Harry quickly.

'We can.'

'No.'

Sirius did not look up at him and Harry did not need to see his face to know he was probably thinking of James, of how James would have relished jumping on the traitor that killed him and his wife with his cowardliness.

'We have to get out of here without them seeing us, Sirius. They can't know we were here or it might mess everything up,' pressed Harry.

The voices moved down the corridor and faded away.

Sirius rose to stand, scowling.

He said nothing as they descended the next flight of stairs, sneaked through the maze of hallways and emerged at the top of the entrance hall, high on the upper floor. Below, the floor was empty. All signs of Lucius had left the dining hall. He too had vanished somewhere inside the massive manor.

Harry led Hermione and Sirius to the basement door. He gently pulled it open and listened with bated breath for the sound of scuffling feet or murmuring voices. There was nothing beyond a cool rush of air and the faint whistle of wind. Light from the hall lit the narrow staircase for the first few feet before the darkness appeared to close in and envelope them, their sight blinded. Harry gave a whispered command not to light their wands. They needed the element of surprise.

The floor beneath them creaked. A dull and slow thud followed them down farther and farther until the darkness waned and a dim, orange light began to creep up the brickwork. They took only a few more steps before the iron-cast gate became visible, its thick bars tall and matte with long shadows that shook in the flickering lamplight.

Harry moved forward and pressed his body against the bars. He squinted into the black corners below the arched pillars.

'There,' said Sirius in his ear.

Harry followed his pointed finger and stared harder into the darkness. He could, just, see the faint and questionable outline of what he believed might be a shoe.

'Hello?' he called in a loud whisper. 'Is anyone there?'

The shape moved.

'Can you come towards the light?'

There was another slow shuffle and Hermione flung her hands over her mouth. Standing, albeit shakily, was an old man. His hair was a crisp white and his eyes were a watery blue. The once tailored clothes hung from his skeletal frame and even the skin of his cheeks seemed to have begun to slide off the bone. Yet, it was another familiar face.

'Mr Olivander!' cried Hermione.

He shuffled a few paces forward.

'Miss Granger.' Olivander's voice was weak and strained, the words caught in his dry throat and cut up the tender flesh inside with every syllable. Yet, he gave them all a wary smile and his eyes settled on Harry.

'You remember me,' said Hermione with surprise.

'I remember every face I see,' he said softly. 'Mr Potter, why are you here of all places?'

'We're looking for something,' answered Harry evasively. He tugged at the bars. 'We need to get you out of here.'

As expected, _Alohamora_ did nothing and no other unlocking spells made any difference. The quickest way to free Olivander was also the least practical but with every passing second, it looked more and more as though they would have to blast the door off its hinges. They could silence the room easily enough but they had no way of masking the tremor that would rip through the walls and up to the floors overhead.

'Can we apparate out of here?' asked Harry.

Hermione held up her wand before she bit her lip. 'No.'

Harry pursed his own lips in return. They could not leave him, not as he was. He tried a few more spells before he moved aside for Hermione to try. She muttered to herself a few times before she shook her head and the pair turned to look at Sirius. He shrugged uselessly; he had, after all, not picked the locks in Azkaban, but instead escaped as an emaciated dog. He was no longer that thin and even if he was, he pointed out, it would do very little good in actually breaking Olivander out. There would just be two of them in the cell.

The weight of time began to rest heavily on their shoulders. Each minute that passed only meant they were a minute closer to someone appearing, closer to some designated time for someone to check on the prisoner, jeer through the bars or raise their wand against him. A door above them shut. It was faint, muffled through the door at the top of the stairs but audible through the tense silence all the same. There was a click of Narcissa's boots, perhaps Bellatrix's if she had not already left again for further disturbances up North. There were no distinguishable voices but a thud suggested something heavy had been dropped carelessly to the floor.

'Malfoy's back,' announced Harry tersely.

Hermione continued to mutter to herself.

'You should leave,' rasped Olivander.

Hermione ignored him and Harry just shook his head.

'Stand aside,' he said. He ushered Hermione and Sirius behind him. He threw a spell over his shoulder. 'When I blast the door open, Sirius will grab Olivander and Hermione and I will deal with whoever comes down the stairs. As soon as we find somewhere to apparate from, we're gone.'

'I can fight,' said Sirius.

'Not without a wand you can't,' returned Harry.

'You should have taken mine when I offered earlier,' quipped Hermione, her back already turned to him in preparation for whoever might appear.

Harry swung his wand out and the dark metal blew apart, shattered easily beneath the strength of the curse, and screeched deafeningly whilst rumbling through the walls. It swung back and clattered against the stone, squealing as it slowly drew closed again. Sirius caught it and slipped inside, a hand extended expectantly to Olivander. The other took it with dull eyes. His watery gaze was fixed upon the ceiling tracking something above that no one else could hear or see. When his head darted down towards the unseen exit, Harry turned immediately and shot a glaring red light blindly up the staircase.

There was a distant brattle, followed by a smack. A quiet rustle and clunk grew louder and louder until something tumbled into view; a great lump lay not quite at the bottom stair, head hidden in the join of a step and legs twisted beneath the rotund form. A small, fat wand came tumbling after.

Sirius was the first to respond and let out a loud grunt.

Harry ignored Pettigrew's groan as he hopped around him and hurried up the steep stairs. Behind him, Olivander gave a breathless laugh at what he was sure was Sirius stepping straight onto the Death Eater.

'Wormtail?' called a voice. 'What was that?'

There was no response and everyone remained frozen where they stood. Harry searched his brain for a response and his eyes turned to the lifeless body behind him. Sirius was already upon Pettigrew, a hand fisted around his collar and wand on his forehead. With a gasp, Pettigrew jerked into motion, mouth wide open and eyes frantic. Sirius slammed a hand down over his mouth.

'Tell Malfoy nothing's here and you tripped or I'll kill you here and now,' he snarled lowly.

Pettigrew shivered.

'Now!' growled Sirius.

The hand was removed only an inch and Pettigrew was quick to call out: 'I tripped on the stairs. There's nothing down here. The prisoner is still here.'

His voice trembled, the way Harry remembered it to – when he had been cornered by Sirius and Remus in the Shrieking Shack, when faced with Voldemort in his many visions. He had never heard the man steady and calm and it seemed Lucius had not either for there was no call back and no questioning footsteps sent to investigate.

Harry turned to Pettigrew. He looked him in the eye, his gaze unwavering and piercingly clear behind his circular spectacles. 'Let us go.'

'What?' stuttered Pettigrew. He squirmed in Sirius' hold.

'Let us go. Let us leave here without mentioning a word of us. You owe me a debt,' he continued.

Pettigrew's blue eyes widened. His lips parted only a faction in consideration for his response when it flew wide and let out a muffled scream into the palm of Sirius' expectant hand. His arm wrenched up and Harry reached to grab it before he could attack Sirius, only the hand stopped midway and crunched instead around Pettigrew's own neck.

Sirius' hands released him immediately and Pettigrew fell to his knees. He stumbled forward down a step or two; Sirius wrenched him back again, hand on his in a frantic attempt to pry the silver fingers from his fleshy throat.

Harry lurched forward to help and Hermione joined in pulling Pettigrew backwards. Just as suddenly as he had acted, Sirius leapt away as though lightening had struck his very soul. His hands remained outstretched towards his childhood friend, then, slowly, they fell to his sides, motionless.

Hermione quickly shuffled into his vacated spot.

Pettigrew spluttered, eyes bulging out of his sockets like tiny squids, colourless now rolled so deeply into his skull. He choked out something, a word, Harry suspected, so indistinguishable that had it not been for the forced articulation of his lips it would have been entirely missed. Whatever he tried to say over and over again, it was too garbled to mean anything at all, his last breath was wasted on something no one could understand.

Harry stepped back and lightly pulled Hermione's hands away from Pettigrew's false fingers. He lay on the steps with the false fingers wrapped around his neck, tips dug in so tightly the purple skin was still a glaring white beneath them.

Hermione wrapped her arms tightly around her stomach. She looked to Sirius.

Harry followed her gaze; Sirius remained fixated on the body and Harry could only speculate what it was like to see a former friend die before his eyes, especially one that shared so much of his memories, his happiest moments. Harry had half expected Sirius to laugh and exclaim how wonderful it was that the traitor was finally dead. Yet, there was nothing on Sirius' face at all.

It was clear, even if just for a moment, Pettigrew had felt remorse. He had considered letting them go as Harry had asked, fulfilling his life debt and getting rid of whatever drop of guilt might have remained in his spirit for having murdered his friends. The hand was a curse, that much had been obvious to Harry the moment Voldemort had constructed it in the graveyard years ago; anything he gave was. It knew as well as he did that Pettigrew might just have let them go and now, Voldemort would know the same.

Ollivander cleared his throat gingerly. 'I know this may be a tad untactful, but perhaps we should move on.'

Olivander may not have known Sirius past selling him his first wand as a boy, but the man saw more than most. Harry had no doubt he could read something on the other's face that he himself could not yet he was distant enough to verbally push Sirius up the flight of stairs and towards their destination. They climbed higher and higher and Hermione still shook her head every time Harry turned for confirmation. There was no escape yet.

An uneasiness began to build in his stomach. He pictured the Malfoy's entrance hall, where the doors were and the easiest way back down to the kitchen. If Lucius was still waiting on the top of the stairs then there would be no way to avoid a fight; their plan of getting in and out undetected would be ruined at the last stage.

Voices began to rumble above. Each slow, methodical step they took drew them closer to a set of voices they had never heard before. Rough, cockney delivery against Mrs Malfoy's careful timbre was impossible to ignore. Harry frowned to Hermione. Her eyes remained fixated on the doorway, less than eight steps from them now, her brow dipped low too.

Harry crept up another three steps, flush against the wall and out of slight of the sharp light beam that stretched across from the half-open door.

'I'm tellin' you, I was promised forty-galleons for 'er.'

'No one would pay forty-galleons to have you capture a child from a train full of Death Eaters,' responded Mrs Malfoy calmly.

Harry took another step.

'That's what I was told!'

'Nonsense. I am not paying you for a service you have not even fulfilled yet,' she said. 'At any rate, go back to whoever promised you such ludicrous things to receive your payment.'

'I'm not getting her yet. I need to be paid first, so I know it's legit.'

'If the Dark Lord wants her here, do you honestly think you are in any position to be making that decision?'

The man was quiet.

Harry could envision Mrs Malfoy's arms crossed and eyes blank and cold as she regarded the man, a word upon her lips ready to be said in order to destroy his life if he pushed once more against the wishes of Voldemort.

Harry rose up another step, just far enough to stick his head into the gap in the door. At first, he could not see anyone but the man – scruffily dress in an oversized brown coat, worn boots and a mop of thin, mousey hair upon his head – and the flared dress skirt of Mrs Malfoy at the very edge. He leant forward another inch, twisting and angling his head the best he could to see the full scope of the hall.

'Who is she, anyway?' asked Mrs Malfoy.

'Her father's been writin' some stuff in 'is paper about You-Know-Who, claimin' Potter's out there and needs everyone's 'elp,' the man said with a careless shrug. 'Refused to stop when Death Eater's busted down 'is door, so they said to get his kid. Name's Lovegood, or somethin'.'

Behind Harry, Hermione breathed in sharply.

Harry's already knotted stomach twisted further. He tightened his grip on his wand but did not move his feet to confront them as he wanted to. Instead, he turned his head back towards Hermione. 'Can we leave?'

Hermione jerked her head and reached for him. He took her hand, then Sirius' in a tight, unrelenting hold. Sirius gripped back just as hard; his other hand was wrapped around Olivander's shoulders. Hermione mouthed a countdown and then, with a pop that echoed through the empty stairwell and through the stifled entrance hall, they vanished from Malfoy Manor.

The moment their feet touched the ground, Harry lunged forward, his hands on Olivander's chest as the elderly man lurched forwards suddenly. He cried out, knees buckling under the sensation of appirition. He was lowered to the ground by Sirius, held up only by the hands wrapped around his arms now as Harry searched for somewhere to shelter them from the bitter night.

Hermione rummaged noisily through her beaded bag but brought up nothing except a flask of water.

'Drink this,' she said as she pressed the rim to Olivander's cracked lips. 'You're probably dehydrated – we'll set up shelter and then we'll find food.'

She rambled on for a moment with little reassurances and a promise to do their best. Quickly, she stood and hurried over to Harry who had stopped still in the middle of the field they had landed in; there was nothing for miles besides fallow ground and barbed wire fences. A crooked tree stood some distance away, tall and solitary, halfway up a steeply inclining hill.

'Harry,' she mumbled with a quick glance over her shoulder. 'We can't continue like this. Olivander – he'll die if we can't get him somewhere safe.'

A moment passed.

'Where are we right now?' questioned Harry.

'Devon.'

'Near the Weasleys, then,' he commented. Harry nodded once, then again more firmly. 'We'll have to contact the Order. There must be some way to do it. Right now – right now, we can't move. Olivander's not strong enough and I'm not even sure how well Sirius is.'

He turned towards his Godfather, who was speaking quietly in Olivander's ear, dirty clothes further sullied by the saturated soil beneath his knees. Thin but sprite as always, yet he had been kept in the Malfoys' home for months, lost to them all and exposed to unknowable things.

Hermione clenched her hands together in front of her mouth, warming them with her breath.

Please be okay, she thought, please find them safe.

* * *

 **Okay, so I returned to updating once in a million years. It's been two months? I've had this written out for ages, but my progress has been very slow on the chapter I'm currently trying to write; I've lost my copy of the book somewhere in decorating the house and it's not turned up yet. I like to have a reference near me when I write so I know I don't miss out important plot details that come up later and I feel Godric's Hollow has a couple of those! I'll try to borrow a copy until I find mine so I can actually get this rolling again. I really want to write but it makes me unsatisfied if I worry that it doesn't fit in, so I've been putting it off for so long.**

 **Anyway, next chapter will return to Cassy and Neville.**

 **Sorry and thank-you for sticking with me anyway!**

 **Thanks!**


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